


Sharp and Shiny Bagel AU

by Feynite, Little_Lotte



Series: Sharp and Shiny [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Modern AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Lotte/pseuds/Little_Lotte
Summary: Aili and Uthvir Bagel AU spin-off (Bagel Pride, to be specific), also featuring some Daewyn x Thenvunin because it's too much work to make a separate thing for them.
Relationships: OC/OC, Thenvunin/Daewyn, Uthvir/Lavellan
Series: Sharp and Shiny [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/524539
Kudos: 8





	1. Happy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bagel Bites](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103086) by [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite). 



The last week of Solace in Kirkwall is sunny and sweltering, the heat rising up off the cobblestone streets nearly enough to bake any of the unfortunate residents in their own shoes. Aili’s preferred method of dealing with this problem comes in the form of a very large, very cold bubblegum milkshake, courtesy of her favorite Bagel Shop, and today is no different. Well, maybe it is a little different.

It’s her birthday.

She doesn’t have any particularly special plans or anything. It is a weekday. She celebrated with her friends last weekend, and her parents called her earlier today while she opened her presents from them.

Still, she figures that she’s earned a half-day off from her job at Back Alley Books in Low Town to treat herself in some way or another, while also trying to fend off the heat. Granted, her budget doesn’t really allow for grandiose bouts of spending, but she is fairly certain that her bank account can handle her splurging on an apple tart for dessert and one or two books that she’s been eyeing in the High Town market.

Aili is heading across the street towards her favorite Not-Actually-Bagels Shop to go about the first order of business. Namely picking out the biggest, fluffiest apple tart Pride has to offer, preferably drowning in honey and powdered sugar, and shamelessly shoveling it into her mouth in as few bites as possible. She slurps merrily away at her milkshake, content with her scheme, her nose buried in a book about demon possession she ‘borrowed’ from the storage room at work, and only peripherally paying attention to her surroundings, confident in her ability to walk the fifteen feet from one store front to the other without incident. 

Which is how she ends up barreling straight into someone else, face first, splattering pink milkshake everywhere and nearly choking on the straw.

Aili likely would have ended up flat on the ground, if the stranger’s arms had not been so quick to grab onto her. She is mortified, but her first concern is, naturally, for the state of her book. It seems to have avoided the vast majority of the calamity, with only a few stray spots of milkshake here and there. Not enough to make it illegible or unsellable in the store. She heaves a sigh of relief.

Then she turns her focus to the person she has just accosted.

Brown hair, brown eyes, and sharp angular features all put together in a rather stunningly beautiful face, scrutinizing her in a way that would make her cheeks burn even if she hadn’t just bowled right into them. She can’t really be certain if they are a man or a woman, but it the end, she supposes it doesn’t matter all that much. Everything about them seems expensive. A dark well-tailored suit with accents in red, designer sunglasses tucked into their breast pocket, and they even _smell_ like they just escaped from some sort of fashion magazine. She gets the distinct impression that this is someone who goes out of their way to present themselves in a very particular manner. Some strange cross between a playboy and a hitman.

They are also completely drenched in pink bubblegum milkshake.

“Oh- Oh my gosh, I am so _so_ sorry!” Aili blurts out, scrambling backwards and looking around desperately for something she can do to make things even the slightest bit less catastrophic, “I- Just…just wait here a moment.”

She rushes into the store behind them, slamming the door open with a bang and making a mad dash for the counter, grabbing up fistfuls of napkins and apologizing all the while.

“I’m so sorry, Pride, but I need these,” she pants out, cramming a few more napkins into the pockets of her cutoffs, “There was a- And I- And they- …I’ll pay you back! Or something! I’m just- Really _really_ sorry!”

And then she is whirling back out the door like a small blonde hurricane before Pride can do more than blink at her in astonishment.

“Here!” Aili exclaims, all but exploding in napkins as she hurries back over to her unfortunate victim and begins awkwardly wiping at their suit coat. It helps. A little. It is pretty obvious that they are going to have to get their outfit dry-cleaned, however. She winces. There goes any hope of her being able to afford those books she wanted. 

“No need for such panic,” the stranger assures her, sounding amused more than anything, “It is nothing that a trip to the cleaners will not fix, and I suspect we are both at least partially to blame for the incident.”

“Only one of us threw their milkshake everywhere,” she points out wryly, relaxing just a bit.

“True, though perhaps if I had been paying less attention to your… _milkshake_ and more to your intended trajectory, I likely could have moved out of the way in time,” they return with a grin and, for some inexplicable reason, an added wink.

She stares at them for a half a moment, brow furrowed, before realization dawns.

“Oh. Well, it is very hot today, isn’t it?” Aili asks, an uncertain smile curling up the corners of her mouth, “I got the milkshake at the other bagel shop across the street, if you were wondering. I recommend that you drink it, if you want to cool off, though. They seem to be less pleasant for bathing in.”

The stranger blinks at her as though she has said something odd.

“Yes. …Well, I suppose you could make it up to me by buying me a drink,” they note casually, smirk reforming on their face.

“…You mean, you want me to buy you a milkshake?” Aili wonders, “I guess that’s fair. I need a new one anyway if I am going to walk anywhere in this heat.”

“I…suppose we could get milkshakes, if that it your preference,” the stranger agrees with a slight inclination of their head. They seem a little dubious, but they follow her back across the street and into the Proper Bagels Shop without comment.

They take a seat at one of the little tables inside while Aili goes to the counter and orders their drinks. She is not the only one who seems to have thought of beating off the heat of the day with one of Lavellan’s milkshakes, however, so it takes her about fifteen minutes or so to get back to them. In the meantime, they have shed their suit coat, possibly folding it into a slim leather briefcase she hadn’t noticed earlier, which leaves them in a red vest and a crisp white dress shirt. There is hardly any sign that they were completely covered in pink sugary slush a few minutes ago.

“You did a much better job of cleaning yourself up than I did,” she notes a bit sheepishly, setting down one of the milkshakes in front of them and extending a hand. “I’m Aili, by the way.”

“Uthvir,” they reply with a grin and yet another wink, taking her proffered hand and bringing it to their lips.

She can feel the heat burning across her face and out to the tips of her ears. Well. That is…an interesting way to greet people. Antivan, perhaps? She thinks she might have read somewhere that they are a bit more…open with displays of affection and such.

Aili sits down rather heavily in her chair, uncertain what else to say, and self-consciously begins slurping at her new milkshake. She has a hard time meeting their gaze.

“S-sorry again,” she manages after a few moments, “For, you know, ruining your suit.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” Uthvir says breezily with a dismissive wave of their hand. They stare at her for a moment before following her example and taking a drink of the bright pink beverage set before them.

Their face immediately puckers in an expression of extreme disgust.

“What’s wrong?” Aili wonders, genuinely surprised, “Did you get a brain freeze from just that little sip?”

“It’s _sweet_ ,” Uthvir says, mouth still twisted in a frown of distaste.

“It’s a milkshake,” Aili points out with a snicker.

“It is liquid sugar with a touch of milk and flavoring,” they insist, before sighing and getting to their feet, “You can have mine, I am going to get something to wash the taste out of my mouth.”

“But…how will I pay you back?” she asks after them.

“You’ll think of something, I’m certain,” they reply, grinning again as they head up to the counter.

She has no idea how she is supposed to think of a way to pay someone back when all she knows about them is their name and the fact that they apparently hate milkshakes. But she shrugs the thought away. She might not get her apple tart, but she has two bubblegum milkshakes, and a new acquaintance, who, if nothing else, seems very interesting.

Uthvir returns a few minutes later with a cup of steaming black coffee. She gives them a look.

“You’re drinking hot coffee?” she asks, with an air of disbelief, “And you were wearing a dark colored suit, too. Aren’t you hot?”

“Do you think I’m hot?” they wonder, cocking and eyebrow and quirking their lips as they take a careful sip of their coffee.

“Well…I guess you know your own body,” she allows, “You don’t really look sweaty or anything, so I guess you must be used to the heat. Are you from up north?”

“…No,” they answer with a sigh a moment later. She gets the feeling that she shouldn’t press the issue, so she leaves it alone.

“So…did you have a job interview or something, or do you dress like that all the time?” she asks instead.

“Well, I did not have an interview, per se, but today is the first day of my new job,” they reply.

“Did you just move here?” Aili wonders.

“I signed the lease on my apartment yesterday,” Uthvir confirms, leaning back in their chair and smiling at her, “Perhaps you could show me around town?”

“Well, I suppose I do still owe you,” Aili says slowly, considering, “and I don’t have to go back to work today.” She looks at them for a moment and shrugs, “…Alright.”

They spend the rest of the time in the bagel shop discussing various sights in the city, and the best places to shop for basic necessities. Somehow that veers off onto the subject of movie theatres and cheesy B movies, and which ones they have seen, and comparing notes on the quality of the acting and the special effects.

Then, when they actually make it back out onto the streets, Uthvir suggests going to a movie that she has been wanting to see for some time. She isn’t really sure how that is going to help them find their way around town, but she’s certainly not opposed to the idea. The cinema in Low Town smells like grease and stale popcorn, but it is mostly empty on weekday afternoons, and they actually end up being the only ones in the theatre for the movie they want, and make as much noise and commentary as they please.

Afterwards, she takes them down to the docks, and they let the seagulls have what is left of their popcorn. It might be one of the shabbier parts of town, but watching the boats out on the water is always nice. Peaceful.

She shows them around the Low Town bazaar and the High Town market, and even manages to sneak in the purchase of one of the books she wanted. So, even if she wasn’t having a good time, the day wouldn’t be a complete wash. But, startlingly enough, she realizes that she _is_ having a good time.

Uthvir is fun.

She’s not sure what to do with that nugget of information exactly, since she is pretty sure they don’t travel in the same social circles. But…maybe they would like to see low rated action films with her every now and then. She thinks that would be nice.

The day winds down, and they grab a bite to eat at one of her favorite restaurants. Nothing fancy, but the food is unquestionably good. Uthvir offers to pay, and she lets them, figuring that it must be their way of thanking her for showing them around. Even if that thanks is a bit circular, seeing as she did it to pay them back for something in the first place.

They walk her back to her apartment complex, and she shifts her weight a bit uncertainly, unsure of how to end an impromptu day of adventure with a veritable stranger she literally ran into on the street.

“I do not suppose you are about to invite me in for coffee?” Uthvir asks, giving her a strangely intense look.

“I don’t think I have any coffee right now, sorry,” Aili admits, twisting her hands together, “and my place is a bit of a mess. And I can’t stay up too late, anyway. I had time off for my birthday, but I have to open the book store in the morning.”

“…I see,” Uthvir sighs, “Then, could I at least get your phone number?”

“So you can send me the bill for the dry-cleaning, right?” she asks, digging around for her phone and handing it to them.

“Actually, I thought the idea of a second date seemed nice,” Uthvir comments with a wry smirk as they enter her contact information onto their phone and pass it back to her. “…Do you disagree?”

Aili blushes from the pit of her neck all the way to the roots of her hair.

“D-date?” she sputters helplessly, “T-that was a… We were on a… Really?”

Uthvir blinks at her with an air of mild bafflement.

“I assumed it was rather obvious,” they reply.

“B-but…why?” she blurts out.

“Why what?” Uthvir wonders, arching a brow at her.

“Why…w-would you want it to be a date?” Aili asks, still clearly blindsided by this sudden revelation.

“Why should I not?” Uthvir counters, moving a step closer and looming, just a bit, “A beautiful woman doused me in cold sugar water and then agreed to spend the day with me, the whole thing has a strange air of charm to it, I think. …Are you opposed to the idea of having been on a date with me?”

“N-no,” she stammers out, shaking her head at them, “You’re very…um. I had…a lot of fun.”

“I am glad,” Uthvir admits, smiling down at her. They pause for a moment, their gaze growing intense once more, “If I cannot accompany you inside your apartment…may I at least kiss you goodnight?”

She feels like she might be about to melt into the street. She thinks that all of the blood in her body has relocated to her face. She thinks she nods at them, but she’s not completely sure of anything right now.

“I-if you like,” Aili squeaks out in barely a whisper.

Uthvir bends their face down closer to hers, and she presses her eyes shut, bracing herself for the feeling of their mouth against her own.

The kiss comes as a gentle press of warm lips against her cheek instead.

She blinks up at them in surprise, raising a hand to touch her freshly-kissed face. Uthvir grins at her again.

“Happy Birthday.” 


	2. Satinalia

The first time Uthvir actually makes it into Aili’s cramped little one room apartment, they are coming home from a fairly raucous Satinalia party at the Hanged Man, both of them soaked through with the frigid slush of precipitation that cannot decide if it wants to be snow or rain, which seems to frequent Kirkwall during the beginning of Firsfall. She thinks there was a reason why she had been putting off having them up here, but it is hard to put her finger on right now, especially with them all close and wrapped around her, holding her up just the tiniest bit. She might also be drunk. Just a little. Just enough for everything to feel fizzy and light and good.

Her apartment is absolutely freezing.

“You live in an ice box,” Uthvir informs her mildly, and she swears she can see the words leaving their mouth in little warm puffs of air. They still have their mask on from the party, possibly in an attempt to keep some portion of themselves dry, shrewd brown eyes peering around her room from the face of some sort of large bird of prey, the sharp beak of it curving downwards, almost as if mimicking the pensive frown their lips are forming beneath it as they take note of the mountains of worn and tattered books stacked onto nearly every available surface of her living quarters. “Possibly an ice box that was once part of a condemned library.”

“Heat must’ve broken again,” she hums, not sounding particularly concerned as she begins the process of trying to peel her coat from her skin, noticeably shivering all the while.

“We could have gone back to my place,” they point out with a sigh, shrugging out of their own sopping great coat and tossing it over a chair as she had done.

“And walked all the way up to High Town in this weather?” she snorts. “That’s like…a million stairs. And… Did I lose my shoes?”

“After you tripped for what must have been the hundredth time, you ripped them off and shoved them in my pockets, remember?” they ask, stepping back over to her and carefully pulling the papier-mâché fox mask she had been wearing out of the dripping ruin of her hair before smoothing a few damp curls back from her face thoughtfully. “We could have called a taxi.”

“Trying to flag down a cab during Satinalia is like trying to win the lottery…when you haven’t bought a ticket,” she reminds them, leaning into their hand heavily.

Uthvir sighs again before pulling her fully into their arms, expression still largely obscured by the face of a bird as they loom over her, looking for all the world like some sort of brigand who had managed to escape from the cover of one of those trashy romance novels Cassandra is always digging through the dollar bin for at the used bookstore where she works.

“You could also simply move in with me,” they say in a carefully neutral tone.

“How would that have made the Hanged Man any closer to your apartment?” she laughs, snuggling into them, the wet velvet of her dress sliding against the slick fabric of their dress shirt.

“We could have gone to a different bar,” Uthvir points out.

“One of those snooty High Town places?” she frowns, reaching up to push their mask to the top of their head so she can actually see their face. “Half of the drinks they serve cost more than my water bill.”

“There is also alcohol at my apartment,” Uthvir smirks, “Free of charge.” 

“I wouldn’t come live with you just to mooch all your stuff!” she states with a proud tilt of her chin. “We’ve only been dating a few weeks…and there’s nothing wrong with where I live.”

“Your apartment is a tiny, freezing broom closet,” they tell her plainly. “It is not as though taking you in would place some huge strain on me financially, and I would prefer being secure in the knowledge that you had not succumbed to hypothermia every time I am called out of town on business.”

“I don’t want to be some sort of kept woman!” she declares frowningly.

Uthvir abruptly lets her go, and she nearly stumbles, but they catch her forearm at the last moment, steadying her. 

“I apologize,” they say in an almost flat tone, something strange and closed about their expression. “That… It is not my intention, to cage you in some way. To make you feel trapped. I…am many things, not all of which are particularly admirable…but I am not that.”

“I know,” she replies softly, reaching out and curling her fingers around their hand, gently tugging them back to her. “Just…give me some time, okay? A ‘no’ today doesn’t mean a ‘no’ forever… I can still come over and drink you out of booze, if you want.” She grins. “Free of charge.”

“Hm, tempting,” they purr, bending down to claim her mouth in a deep thorough kiss. Their lips are cold and their face is still streaked with rain, and she doubts hers are much better, but a few long minutes of clinging to one another seems to warm them slightly before they finally pull away. “I suppose I should start my journey home for the evening, however, since, as you have pointed out, I have quite a few stairs to climb.”

“What?” Aili baulks. “You aren’t walking home in this weather, Aveline will find you tomorrow morning, frozen to the flagstones of High Town’s square like a popsicle!”

“Your concern is touching,” Uthvir snickers .

“You aren’t the only one who gets to be worried about hypothermia,” she says. “You can just stay here, you know. My place isn’t _that_ small.”

“You do not even have a couch,” Uthvir reminds her, arching a brow.

“But I have a bed,” she replies with a wide knowing grin.

Their gaze flicks doubtfully over to the narrow twin mattress shoved against the far wall.

“It is covered in books,” they note, mouth twitching briefly in amusement, “and you are drunk.”

“ _Tipsy_ ,” she corrects, “and if you ask really nicely, I could probably be persuaded to move the books to the floor.”

Uthvir still looks uncertain, and she gives them a moment to consider things. Sometimes they can be curiously withdrawn about casual intimacy, and she has learned that it is generally best not to press the issue.

“I have spare pajamas,” she offers when they make no reply, “As long as you don’t mind pink with rabbits. You aren’t all that much bigger than me.”

“I…” Uthvir begins slowly when a loud grinding whine rumbles up through the walls of her building and the lights in her apartment sputter and die all at once. She hears them sigh from somewhere in the blackness beside her. “I suppose it would not be terribly gallant of me if I allowed you to freeze to death in the dark.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” she agrees cheerfully, fishing around until her hands find them so she can start to maneuver them in the general direction of the bed. There is a bit of stumbling, knocking into one or two piles of books and an impromptu meeting of her knee with a wayward coffee table that makes her yelp, but they still manage to make it to their destination more or less in one piece. The cold is really starting to seep into her by this point, but at least there is prospect of snuggles and a rather large mound of blankets to burrow under.

Sharp slender hands move up under the skirt of her dress once she finally sinks down onto the mattress, fingers like ice over the skin of her thighs as warm breath ghosts over the curve of neck. She trembles, and it is not entirely from the cold.

“I…thought we were going to put on pajamas?” she asks a bit breathlessly.

“Hm, yes, but we have to remove our wet clothing before the dry ones can be put on,” they point out, one hand still moving up her leg as the other snakes around her back to find the zipper on her dress. “And I would feel terribly remiss if I did nothing to actively prevent you from getting frostbite.”

“My hero,” she laughs, turning their face to ply them with a kiss of her own.

In the end, however, they don’t get much farther than peeling down to their underclothes before the chill of the room has them retreating under Aili’s blanket mountain, shivering and slightly drunk and borderline exhausted. Uthvir takes the space nearest to the wall, and Aili curls herself around them, arms and legs and all, face tucked somewhere under their chin as they bury their nose in the damp mess of her hair. She makes a few brave attempts to continue with their previous activities, but ends up nodding off soon afterwards, mumbling affectionate words at them blearily until sleep claims her. Uthvir lets out one last deep sigh, their own eyes sliding shut as they listen to the deep even sound of her breathing. Warm at last. 


	3. Moving In

It is either very late, or very early when shifting and rustling from the far side of the bed rouses Aili from her sleep. Whatever time it is, a quick glance at the window confirms that it is still dark outside, and therefore she has every right to not be awake. There is also a pillow clutched in her arms for some reason, which seems…not right.

She is pretty sure there was a person in there when she fell asleep.

Aili flops over towards the opposite side of the bed, a tumble of mussed curls and crumpled sheets, and, sure enough, Uthvir is sitting there with their back to her, leaning over as if to pull on their shoes. She stares at them for a moment, taking in the implications of them putting on business attire in the middle of the night. She frowns slightly, as none of the likely answers seem good.

After half a minute or so of further contemplation, she begins wriggling over towards them. A small blonde blanket-snake. She isn’t trying to sneak up on them, but they don’t seem to realize that she is actually awake until her arms are sliding around their hips, her face nuzzling into their thigh.

Uthvir tenses, as they seem to with most unexpected physical contact, and she obligingly holds still in anticipation. Waiting for them to either adjust or to ask her to move. They meet her gaze soon enough, however, lips quirking upwards in something suspiciously like fondness as they raise a hand to smooth a few errant curls back from her face.

“Mm, I thought the person who _didn’t_ live here was supposed to sneak out before the neighbors could see,” Aili hums sleepily, leaning into their hand.

“I am fairly certain that only applies when one is either ashamed of their chosen bedfellow, or engaging in a scandalous affair, neither of which are true in the case at hand,” they inform her in a low voice. They trail their thumb downwards, tracing over the shape of her lips. She nips at them in playful retaliation, mindful of their sharp nails, and flashing them a grin. Their own expression shifts into something a bit more apologetic though, “I…did not mean to wake you.”

She angles her head to get a better look at their face, still using their leg as a pillow.

“So, you were just going to slip away into the night without even saying goodbye?” she wonders frowningly, “That would have been an unpleasant morning surprise. Can’t your boss wait until normal business hours to call you off somewhere?”

“Alas, I fear she has insisted that I be on the next flight to Denerim,” they sigh wearily, returning to running their fingers through her hair, “…I would have left you a note.”

“A note isn’t the same as saying goodbye,” Aili asserts with a huff, “And it’s…awkward to be in someone’s home when they aren’t there.”

Uthvir blinks at her.

“It is not as though I mind,” they tell her a moment later, arching a brow slightly, “I would not have given you a key, otherwise.”

“Yeah, but that’s…it’s just…different,” she sighs, slumping into them a bit more, “Well, I guess if you’re getting up, I should, too.”

She begins the process of shuffling backwards so she can get off the bed without crawling over them, but Uthvir grabs hold of her wrists before she can completely withdraw.

“Or you could stay here and look after my apartment for me?” they suggest, pulling a hand up to place a kiss against her wrist, “I should be back by this weekend.”

“And what exactly needs watching in your well-secured apartment?” Aili wonders, “You already have a cleaning service.”

“Collect my mail?” they offer, a smirk spreading across their face, “Water my plants?”

“You don’t have any plants,” she points out, narrowing her eyes at them suspiciously.

“I’ll buy some,” they return breezily with a wave of their hand.

“You know, it doesn’t seem especially fair that when moving in together comes up, it’s always about me moving in with you,” Aili notes dryly. “I have an apartment, too.”

“Yes, an apartment where there is scarcely room for _you_ to exist, let alone the both of us together,” Uthvir replies with an incredulous look. They stare at her for a moment, and something perilously close to uncertainty flickers across their face. “You…do not have to stay, of course. I merely assumed that…you…might enjoy seeing me as soon as I got back into town.”

Aili blinks up at them owlishly, uncertain if she is actually awake or not. She can feel the heat rising in her face, and Uthvir can’t quite seem to meet her eyes, and she knows that means she should probably say something… But all the air seems to have rather suddenly vanished from her lungs.

“Y-yes!” she manages to blurt out once her brain seems to be functioning again, “I mean, of course I…but that doesn’t mean we’d have to- Because we haven’t even…um.”

After a few moments of fumbling, she huffs at them, and decides that taking a leaf out of their own book might be the right course of action here, sliding her hands down their stomach, making a clear beeline for the fastening of their pants.

“…What are you doing?” Uthvir wonders, watching curiously as her fingers fumble with their belt buckle.

“Making sure you miss me while you’re gone,” she asserts, not quite able to hide the embarrassment in her voice, keeping her eyes trained on the task at hand, face still clearly flushed.

She scoots a little closer to them, noting that there is nothing but smooth flat skin to greet her once she finally gets enough fabric out of the way. She is less used to this shape than the other in terms of bedroom activities, but it might be for the best in this instance. Less mess, and all that.

“Not to imply that this is not an intriguing proposition,” Uthvir says, leaning back on their hands a bit, neither encouraging her actions nor pushing her away, “but I do have a flight to catch.”

“Then I guess you’d better finish quickly,” Aili retorts, flashing them a grin. She pauses a moment afterwards, as though a thought had suddenly occurred to her, “Do you… Should I stop?”

Uthvir meets her gaze and holds it, and there is a second or two of uncertainty. A few heartbeats worth of doubt. They close their eyes and sigh, and it sounds almost as though something is easing its way out of them.

“I suppose, if you are so set on having your way with me, then I have no choice, but to succumb to your wily charms,” they note glibly, slipping back into smirks and bravado, “It is my punishment, I presume, for attempting to leave without saying goodbye?”

“So obliging,” Aili snorts, continuing the previous efforts to open access to certain areas of their anatomy, shifting more to one side of them so that they can lean back on the bed without pinning her beneath them in the process, “Though I think I would prefer it if it was considered more of a reward for keeping me around. You know, a perk.”

Uthvir opens their mouth, likely to respond with some innuendo about other types of perkiness that she has which they quite thoroughly enjoy, but it is cut off by a sharp hiss of unexpected pleasure as Aili’s lips finally meet the sensitive skin between their legs.

She moves slowly, cautiously, as she tends to when given the chance to initiate physical intimacy. Soft kisses and hesitant swipes of tongue. Still learning the wants of this shape. 

Uthvir is a good instructor, free with their praises, guiding her with quiet moans and little hitches of breath whenever she does something well. One of their hands finds its way back into her hair and grips slightly, the other fisting itself fiercely in the surrounding sheets. They eventually lay down, surrendering completely to the sweet assault of her mouth, biting their own lip as she continues her explorations.

Their new position allows Aili to tug their pants a little farther down their hips, granting her the ability to slip her hand into the loosened fabric and run her fingers over the smooth skin of their inner thigh. Soothing. Urging them to open to her more fully. Until her other hand can reach for them in earnest, sliding a finger into the warm wet heat of them.

“Just like that,” Uthvir manages to pant out, their tone almost pleading, fingers tightening in her hair.

Aili hums against them in acknowledgment, sucking and lapping at them with a bit more fervor, but keeping the movement of her hand slow. She does not try for a second finger until the first is moving in them effortlessly. Sliding her thumb up towards that little bundle of nerves as she presses for more of them.

They arch slightly in her grasp, writhing, moving their hips to meet her hand, and she curls her fingers unthinkingly. A broken moan scrapes out of them, and Aili finds herself shifting her weight slightly, pressing her legs together as heat pools low in her abdomen. She vaguely wishes she could turn her head enough to get a glimpse of them caught up in the throes of pleasure, but she finds herself unwilling to relinquish her hold on them.

She nuzzles into them further, wrapping her free arm around one of their legs for support. Tongue still eagerly laving at slick folds and occasionally dipping into them. Her fingers thrust into them faster, reaching for that place within them, trying to hit as many of their pleasure points as she can get to at once, until Uthvir finally concedes. Their voice breaking as they keen in breathless ecstasy.

Aili takes a few minutes before withdrawing, her mouth still moving over them languidly, as though to soothe them down from shattering heights. Fingers tracing light patterns against heated flesh. When their breath seems to finally even out once more, she places one last kiss against them before extracting herself. Sitting up so she can survey her handiwork.

Uthvir is rather marvelously disheveled. Mussed hair and rumpled dress shirt, pants in disarray. There is still a bit of heat in their gaze as they catch her eye though. She tugs lightly on their tie, flashing them a smug grin.

“I suppose you’re going to need to change your clothes before you leave,” Aili notes, sounding quite pleased with herself.

Before she can be entirely sure what has happened, she finds herself pressed back onto the bed, wrists bound hastily with the red fabric of Uthvir’s tie as they tug her sleepshirt up to her armpits. Her underwear was a casualty of earlier activities, leaving her quite bare to them, making her whimper as they press a thigh up between her legs. The smirk they give her is both predatory and playful.

“Should I leave you here like this?” they whisper in her ear as they begin carefully kneading at one of her breasts, their other hand pinning her arms above her head as they lean into her. Their expression turns slightly wicked as they feel her begin to shift her hips against them, seeking friction. “I shall only be away for a few days, after all. I am certain I could convince someone or other to come over once or twice a day to make sure you are adequately fed and watered.”

“You…wouldn’t…dare,” Aili manages to huff, the sternness of her expression somewhat belied by the slight whine in her voice. “I’m not…a stray cat.”

Uthvir chuckles, reaching over to the bedside table to snag a condom and cover themselves. Rather impressive with only one free hand.

“True enough,” they hum in easy agreement, nipping their way down the side of her neck, grinding themselves back against her, “I just thought it would make a rather lovely sight. To come back to my apartment and find you all tied up and wanting me.”

“I…always want you,” she pants, a little less coherent now, and writhing against them, seeking something a little more substantial than the texture of their trousers.

Uthvir pauses for half a moment to simply stare at her, though she’s not sure why. She opens her mouth to ask, but before the question is even properly formed in her mind, they shift slightly and slide into her in a single smooth motion.

Most of her thought process is gone after that.

They move at a steady even pace. A little slower than they normally might, but they hold her close, nearly crushing her into them. The buttons on their shirtfront press into her skin, uncomfortable, but she can’t find the presence of mind to care. There is such a raw air of wanting to them, stirring the heat already prickling through her nerve endings, stoking it into a blaze.

She breathes them in deeply, as though trying to pull some fragment of their essence into herself for safekeeping, until they can return and claim it. She manages to hook one leg over their hips, tugging fruitlessly against the tie around her wrists, longing to return their embrace. Words spill from her lips, pleading and endearments and curses. And their name, over and over.

“Stay,” she thinks she hears them murmur somewhere into sweat-soaked skin, “Stay here. With me. Stay, stay.” The tone is not a demand, nor is it exactly a plea, but something more of a want. Possibly voiced without intention. Their rhythm shifts slightly and they brush against the place within her that always makes her see stars. She moans, arching into them, teetering on the edge.

“Yes,” she babbles almost helplessly, “Yes. Please, I just-”

That is all she manages to get out before her end comes crashing through her like a storm, sweeping her away.

The world goes white for a few moments, though she distantly thinks she hears the low groan of Uthvir’s own release following after her own. When she comes back to herself with any sort of lucidity, everything seems warm and muggy, and her lover is carefully undoing the binds on her hands. There is a look of rather primal satisfaction on their face.

“So,” she huffs at them, amused and exasperated all at once, “Is that how you handle all of your business deals?”

“Only the very very good ones,” Uthvir assures her with a smirk, bending over to steal a languid kiss.

“I thought you had a plane to catch,” she teases, chasing after their mouth to nip at their bottom lip.

“I’ll say I hit a roadblock,” they grin, leaning back into her, scraping the sharp points of their teeth along the edge of her ear until she shudders, “Unavoidably detained.” 


	4. Cheaters

“Ha! You’re dead!” Aili crows as her avatar strikes a victory pose with their sword in a rain of confetti, lifting her arms above her head and spinning the desk chair around in a circle as part of a celebratory dance. She grins in the direction of the webcam attached to Uthvir’s home computer, “You owe me breakfast and two weeks of washing the dishes.”

“Hm,” Uthvir notes with a frown, squinting at her through the screen, “somehow I remember you being significantly less skilled at this game when we decided to subscribe to it last week.”

“I got tired of losing,” she shrugs, “So I practiced.”

“Ah,” they reply, arching a brow. “Would I be correct in my assumption then, that the apartment is now completely devoid of coffee, and any other conceivably caffeinated beverage, and the trashcan is overflowing with take-out boxes?”

“N-no,” Aili stammers evasively, elbowing a now-soggy container of noodles from her favorite Antivan place farther to one side of the desk, out of sight of the camera.

“You have ‘new book’ rings under your eyes,” Uthvir accuses, their tone floating somewhere between exasperated and amused, “What level did you reach in single player mode?”

“…Forty-six,” she admits sheepishly. Uthvir gives a low whistle.

“And how much actual sleep have you gotten since I went out of town?” they wonder with a knowing look.

“…Enough,” she hedges, eyes darting away briefly as she fruitlessly tries to tug her rumpled sleep shirt into some semblance of order. Uthvir snorts in disbelief and she sticks her tongue out at them, suddenly defiant, “You’re just sore because I keep winning!”

“Very well,” Uthvir counters with an air of innocent nonchalance, though there is a slight spark of mischief in their eyes that belies their façade, “shall we play one last round?”

“Fine by me,” she rejoins smugly, never one to back down from a direct challenge, “What are the stakes?”

“If you win, I will get you the unabridged works of Brother Genitivi that you have been drooling over for the past month,” they promise, a slow smile spreading across their face. The expression of a cat who sees a careless bird wandering too close to their hiding place.

“Those…are first edition!” Aili sputters, pausing to simply gape at them for a moment before managing any sort of reply. She narrows her eyes at them in suspicion. “What’s the catch? …What do you get if _you_ win? You know I don’t have the paycheck to cover something in that price range.”

“Never fear,” they assure her breezily with a dismissive wave of their hand, “What I want from you has no cost in terms of monetary value.”

“What…do you want then?” she asks with a frown, her misgivings growing stronger by the minute.

“Nudes,” Uthvir replies, their grin turning blatantly lascivious.

“You…want me to get you porn?” Aili asks, making a face. “How am I supposed to do that without paying for it? That isn’t really the sort of thing we sell in our store, you know.”

Uthvir heaves a deep sigh, though they look more amused than anything.

“I must admit, I find the fact that you are still largely oblivious to any sort of come-on, even after several months of being involved in a sexual relationship, rather…astounding,” they tell her with a smirk that seems to exude more fondness than any sort of mockery. “… _You_ are the person I wish to have naked pictures of,” they explain after a moment or two of confused silence, when the other shoe still does not seem to drop, “Several of them, in fact. One for every day I am out of town.”

Aili flushes from the pit of her neck all the way to the tips of her ears.

“What- why?” she blurts out, visibly blindsided.

“Because Orlais is boring, and I greatly enjoy seeing you naked?” they suggest with a laugh. “Obviously.”

“B-but I’m not- I don’t… It wouldn’t be very- I mean, I’ve never-” she fumbles helplessly, leaning her elbows on the desk and burying her face in her hands with an embarrassed groan. “And you said you were probably going to be gone for over a month! That’s so manyyy…”

“I would not be opposed to some reciprocation, if you somehow feel that would make things more fair,” Uthvir grins, clearly enjoying themselves very much.

Aili peeks at them through her fingers, offering no response other than some inarticulate grumbling.

“…We could also simply abandon this petty competition in favor of passing time together in some other fashion,” they remind her evenly, “If you are truly so afraid of losing.”

Aili’s hands slap down on the desk, stubbornness writing itself plainly across her face.

“I want those books.”

Uthvir’s eyes ignite with a look of fiery triumph.

“Then by all means, let us play.”

The match begins as most of the others, with Uthvir’s dual-wielding rogue squaring off against Aili’s warrior, and promptly being thrashed with a flurry combo attacks. They occasionally manage to land a hit, but by and large, they have to spend their time darting across the arena to avoid being completely obliterated. Her expression grows more and more smug with each delivered blow.

“You can run, but you can’t hide!” she taunts cheerfully, “You’d better place the order now, because those books are _mine!_ ”

“As you say… _Vhenan_ ,” Uthvir replies coolly.

Their girlfriend promptly topples out of the desk chair with a startled squawk.

“W-what did you just say?!” she squeaks out, pulling herself back up into the line of sight of the webcam, headset askew.

“Hm? Oh. I was merely agreeing that placing the order for your books now seemed prudent,” they say casually, keeping their focus on the game, “After all, you appear to be beating me quite handily.”

“Not that!” she hisses impatiently, “What did you say _after_ that? Y-you called me-”

“Oh look, you seem to have perished,” Uthvir notes with a sympathetic tut, “Such a pity.”

“What?!” Aili baulks, quickly returning her attention to their match just in time to watch her character fall to the ground in the throes of their animated death sequence. She pounds her fist on the desk in aggravation, “You’re a dirty stinking cheater!”

“I am at that,” Uthvir agrees brightly, “And I eagerly await your first venture into the realm of nude photography.”

Aili groans.

“Next time we’re playing co-op.” 


	5. Pillow Talk

This is… sweet?

Uthvir ponders it for a moment, watching Aili’s nose scrunch up a little in her sleep, and listening to the soft sounds of her breaths. 

Yes. It’s sweet. And more than sweet, too. It’s… very, _very_ endearing.

They’ve been out of town for five business days, ostensibly on mandatory training for their new job. In reality, running around for Andruil, trying to keep that particular blackmail axe from dropping onto their head. 

But Andruil pays, in the end. So. It could be worse.

They’re glad to be back, though. The apartment is still and dark, and it’s well past midnight. Not exactly a surprise to find Aili sleeping. They’re a night early in coming home, too, having managed to finish their task and secure a quick flight. Something in them had settled, just a little bit, when they closed the front door behind them.

That same thing seems to stir with a strange mixture of relief and longing and just a hint of satisfied possessiveness, as they see that Aili has wrapped one of their old workout shirts around the pillow she is snuggling. Her hair in disarray, her lips moving silently in the dim light of the room.

Uthvir shucks off their coat, and pulls off their boots, And after a thought, they shimmy out of their jeans, too, and their vest, climbing carefully into the bed in their shorts and undershirt. The blankets are warm, and warmer still as they move in closer to Aili. Carefully flattening the shirt-clad pillow until her arms twitch, and she moves one. Searching for the bulk of it, still sleeping, and then closing her grip around their torso instead.

She lets out a little sound, and Uthvir knows from experience what will happen next, as she promptly rolls towards them. Pillow forgotten, one of her legs stretching over their own as they are claimed as a replacement. They have attempted this pattern in reverse - that is, replacing themselves with a pillow in the morning, to minimize how much they disturb her - but it works even better this way. Aili is warm and soft and the only real hiccup is that they have to brush her hair away from their nose.

She sighs, but doesn’t wake.

They let out a long breath of their own.

_Safe._

For right now.

Just right now.

The warmth is delicious, and the feel of a steady heartbeat near to their own is lulling. They drift off to sleep with the sounds of quiet, snuffling snores in their ears.

They wake up to lips against their cheek, and a hand shucked up beneath their shirt. Resting on their ribs. They blink awake, and see a halo of fair hair, and bright eyes.

“You’re back,” Aili murmurs, sleepy and bewildered, as her fingers trace little circles across their skin.

“A day early,” they confirm.

“Good,” she says, and her lips move over towards theirs. “I missed you.”

Everything is so… different, with Aili. She lies on them, and they don’t feel constrained. They could pick her up and move her if they wanted to; and she would move herself, if they asked. Her kisses are gentle. Undemanding. Their wrists are free, and when they run their hands down her sides, she smiles and moves her kiss to the corner of their mouth. Affectionate. Unhurried.

“I missed you, too,” they say, and marvel at the truth of the statement.

Aili sighs, and flops down against them, snuggling in again. They check the clock, but it’s early, still.

“The pillow was cute,” they mention.

She freezes.

A long, quiet moment passes, and even though they can’t see her face right now, they can _feel_ her blushing. She shifts, just slightly. Looking down towards the side of the bed, where the item in question - still wrapped in their shirt - is lying on the floor. 

“Though in all fairness, if you’re going to be dressing the pillows in clothes, you should probably be wearing a pillowcase. Just to match.” That would be cute, they think. Aili in a little pillowcase dress.

She makes a pained sound.

“Well. I missed you,” she reiterates, though. Almost stubbornly, as she looks up at them with flushed cheeks, and a challenging gaze.

They grin back.

“I’m glad,” they whisper, and lean forward just enough to steal a kiss.


	6. Positive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for the....DRAMA!!!

Aili stares down at the little plastic stick in her hand, her gut tying itself into ten different kinds of knots as she waits, heart stuttering erratically, nearly forgetting to breathe. There are already at least a half dozen of them scattered around the bathroom of their apartment, but… She needs to be sure. Really sure. One hundred percent absolutely infallibly sure. With no room for even the smallest sliver of doubt to wriggle in somewhere.

The minutes pass and, as with all the others, two lines of very solid pink slowly become visible, and she lets out a long shaky breath.

She’s pregnant.

There is a person growing inside of her. A tiny surprise person that she had not thought to meet for at least another three or four years or so. Her child. And Uthvir’s child. Theirs together. Her emotional reaction at the thought of it is potent, practically staggering, but chaotic, too. Everything so tangled up within her that she’s not entirely certain whether she is more excited or terrified.

It is almost hard to believe that just a few short hours ago, she and Uthvir had been eating brunch with her parents, wanting to break the news about their engagement to them before anyone else. That she had happily cleared the stack of waffles off of her own plate and then moved in to pick at Uthvir’s food without a thought, still feeling somewhat peckish. And then her mother had fixed her with one of her long calculating stares, and asked her when her due date was.

They had both laughed about it at first.

Her mother has been not so secretly angling for a grandchild for the last three and a half years of their relationship and, in fact, tripped them both into something of a scare about unintentional pregnancy once already. There had been a lot of awkward dancing around the subject after that, as well as an almost ridiculous amount of precautions taken during sex for quite some time afterwards. Neither of them had been ready for something like that. They had just moved in together, and had still been working out how to deal with one another’s quirks without either Aili getting her feelings hurt or Uthvir retreating into some dark corner and closing themselves off from her. …And she isn’t entirely certain they are ready for it now, truth be told.

But the more they had thought about it, the more evidence seemed to pile up. Her period was late. She always seems to be at least vaguely hungry. And tired. And while it hasn’t been especially severe, she has been feeling nauseous most mornings for the last two weeks as well.

And then there had been a mad dash to the convenience store. Hasty apologies to her parents. And the longest few minutes of her life as they had both crouched there on the bathroom floor, watching those first two little pink lines make an appearance. 

Aili has been stewing about it for most of the day, occasionally tripping somewhere into the realm of mild hysteria, which had caused no small amount of worry at their engagement party earlier this evening. At least she had avoided making any sort of scene, but she and Uthvir had decided beforehand that they wouldn’t say anything about the baby until they had gotten a real chance to discuss it. Some of her anxiety clearly must have bled though however, because more than one person had drawn her aside and assured her that if she was somehow being coerced into marrying them, they would help her get away.

…She’s not certain why, but that always seems to be a prevalent concern amongst their acquaintances.

Especially since she is fairly sure that if anyone had done the cajoling to reach the walking down the aisle phase of things, it was probably her. Though mostly they had both just sort of…stumbled into it. Which seems to be a common theme for their relationship, truth be told. Five years of more or less accidently falling into one another, and then deciding that… Well, the proximity was pretty nice.

Despite the fact that the prospect of children had only ever passed between them in the vaguest notions of ‘things to think about later’, Uthvir has been remarkably calm about this rather large and alarming discovery. Nearly apathetic. It is a bit disconcerting, truth be told. Almost every inch of committed intimacy, from ‘I love you’ to ‘let’s get married’ had only come after a long slow period of easing into it. Not that they weren’t obviously committed to her and their relationship, but nailing anything down with conventional terms was always something of a struggle.

Normally it is not an issue, as Uthvir is well worth waiting for, but they do not have years to stop and think about whether or not they want a child in their life now. Aili is pregnant. It’s theirs. And if they are not ready or willing to be a parent, she needs to know so that arrangements can be made beforehand.

“That is the eighth test you have used,” Uthvir informs her, leaning against the doorway of the bathroom, “Are you convinced yet, or should I run down to the corner store and buy a few dozen more of them?”

“I’m not sure what the point of that would be,” she answers, sounding all but resigned as she brushes past them, heading into their bedroom and sinking down onto their bed with a deep sigh, “…They say only crazy people repeat the same thing over and over and expect a different outcome.”

“Still, there is something to be said for… _thoroughness_ ,” they offer as they turn to face her. Trying for reassurance, she thinks. It falls a bit flat, but she is grateful for the attempt just the same.

Silence hangs between them for a few moments, heavy, and fraught with uncertainty. Uthvir moves closer to her, but can’t quite bring themselves to sit beside her on the bed. They fold their arms around themselves, and she wonders if they think she is about to lash out at them for the way this all came about. She isn’t, of course, but she can’t seem to reach for them either, even though she wants to. It feels like one wrong move, one wrong word, will ruin everything they have managed to build together. She does not want to think that what they have is that fragile, and yet…

“…Are you hungry?” Uthvir finally asks quietly. She shakes her head in silent reply, and they sigh. They take another long look at the expression on her face before continuing, “If you… No matter what your decision is in regards to this…situation, I will abide by it. I will take responsibility. This…does not necessarily need to change things for us.”

“Of _course_ this is going to change things!” Aili exclaims, face falling into something closer to open anxiety, “I’m having your baby. … _Our_ baby. And that is what babies _do_. They laugh and cry, make huge messes, and change everything.”

“That is fine,” Uthvir assures her, “My finances are secure enough to afford the medical expenses and the necessities of child care with relative ease.” 

Aili blinks at them a moment, slightly dumbfounded. But then her brows furrow. Her expression puckers. Not so much with anger, but something more along the lines of disappointment.

“Do you…” she swallowed thickly, “D-do you…um. We…never really talked about having kids. Is this…something you wanted?”

“I had not given it much thought, truth be told,” they admit with a shrug, “I suppose my general feelings on the subject would have been thinking it inconvenient, and possibly even dangerous, depending on when and how such a mistake had been made, and who with. But things are obviously different now. We have already decided to spend the rest of our lives together, and if you want to have the child, I do not mind.”

“So, you think it’s a mistake?” Aili wonders. It feels as though most of the air has mysteriously vanished from the room. Her lips tremble. “You…think it would be better if I got rid of it?”

“I did not say that,” Uthvir says, sighing again, “The implication was that unintentionally conceiving a child with someone else would have been a mistake, under most circumstances, but with you it is more of…an accident? Or possibly even just a surprise. And as I said, whatever you decide, I will support you to the best of my abilities. It is not for me to dictate what you do or do not wish to happen within your own body.”

“I didn’t ask you to tell me what to do,” Aili answers, irritation seeping into her tone, “I asked for your _opinion_. It isn’t like I just randomly came home with a puppy one day; you can’t just brush this off with ‘I don’t mind’ and ‘if you want,’ and then pay for dog food and vet bills and act like it only has the vaguest connection to you. It’s a _child_.”

“You think I am unaware of the differences?” they ask, and she can see their expression closing off. Shutting any vulnerabilities away from prying eyes. Not exactly cold, but still…distancing. Defensive.

“I think you weren’t even all that interested in getting married until very recently,” she counters, perhaps a little sharper than she truly intended, “And while I don’t hold that against you, it is perfectly logical to assume that if adding one grown person to you family seemed like too much of a hassle for you, that you wouldn’t be all that keen on suddenly having a small flailing child clinging to you either.”

“It certainly sounds as though you are holding that against me,” Uthvir replies flatly. “What exactly do you expect me to say? We can still get married, if you wish. We can keep the child, if you want it. I have done a few simple online searches today, and there are several apartments of a suitable size in the area, and a few that are closer to schools, if that is your preference. Kirkwall has relatively decent medical facilities available at hand for both you and the baby. This was unplanned, but adjustments can be made fairly simply. It is not as though this is the worst thing that could have happened.”

Aili bows her head. Her shoulders sag. Defeated.

“...I see.”

A stillness settles over them. Aili blinks down at her knees, lost in thought, trying to weigh the outcomes of every decision laid before her while Uthvir continues to stare at her from across the room. Part of her is itching to simply dissolve into a mess of tears. To reach out and pull them into her arms. Because everything always seems safe and good when she does that. When they’re wrapped up in each other and they can just shut out anything that might be troubling them and pretend for a little while that it isn’t happening.

But she can’t. Not this time.

After what feels like an eternity, Aili sighs deeply, downcast and avoiding eye contact as she finally rises from the bed. She fishes an old duffle bag out of their closet and begins tossing things into it with an air of despondency, moving slowly, almost as if in a trance. It still doesn’t take her very long. Packing never takes her very long.

“…What are you doing?” Uthvr asks, and Aili can hear the hesitance in their voice, even without turning to look at them. The faintest trance of worry bleeding through their tone, twisting something painfully in her chest. She clenches her fists, trying to find an anchor for her resolve before slinging the bag over her shoulder and facing them at last.

“I…think I need some space,” she manages to choke out around the lump in her throat, “Maybe we both do. If I stay here right now, I feel like I’m just going to end up clinging to you and basing my entire decision on what I think would make you happiest, regardless of my own feelings, and I…can’t. I can’t do that this time. There are too many things that could happen, both good and bad, that need to be considered, and I need a clear head.”

The lights in the room flicker briefly.

Aili takes a few cautious steps closer to them, hesitating for a moment before stretching out a hand to touch their cheek. Their expression is carefully neutral, but she thinks there might be something like genuine panic in their eyes. She tries to smile, wanting to be reassuring, but it feels…tight. Stretched thin across her face. 

“I do love you, you know,” she tells them softly, “So much.” She smooths her thumb across the apple of their cheek. “And I… I still want to marry you. I want us to belong to one another. To be a family. But…I don’t want to burden you with a responsibility you aren’t genuinely interested in having. And this child…our child; I don’t ever want them to think that…to feel as though they were unwanted. I have to think about what is best for them in all of this, too.”

She moves to pull away and Uthvir catches her hand, just for a moment. They open their mouth as though to speak, but for once it seems as though words are not coming as easily to them as they would wish. The lights sputter again.

They should really speak to the maintenance people about that.

“It’s late,” they say after a few moments, “You should not go out by yourself.”

“I’m just going to Varric’s,” she assures them, moving out towards the living room with Uthvir trailing in her wake, “He’s always got an empty couch for unexpected company. I don’t have to cut through any of the shadier parts of Kirkwall to get there. And…I’ll text you, if you want.”

“I would prefer to accompany you,” they reply, “but I suppose that would defeat the object, since your goal seems to be to get away from me.”

“It isn’t like that,” she insists with a frown, “I’m not angry with you. I just need a little breathing room to think about how I should handle this. And…I think it would be a good idea for you to do the same. Take some time and think about what you really want…and what you might regret later.”

Her hand is on the door knob, and it has never felt so difficult to turn.

“Aili,” Uthvir calls to her, their voice just above a whisper, and it is almost enough for her to turn around and drop her bag and forget the whole thing. She peers back at them over her shoulder. They shift their weight slightly, curling their arms around their middle, an uncertainty that is so jarringly different from their usual swagger. “You…were never a burden.”

She smiles, thin and tenuous, but genuine.

“Thank you.”

The door swings shut behind her softly.

And the apartment is plunged into darkness.

~

Alone in the shadowy side streets of High Town, Aili finds it is much harder to hold back her tears. Going back wouldn’t change anything right now, though. Like putting a tiny bandage on what is looking more and more like a gaping wound in their relationship. Her steps are hurried. Her head swims. She gulps down air thickly between sobs, trying to keep quiet.

She is a few blocks from their apartment, when she feels it. A strange prickling of unease slinking down her spine. As if someone is watching her. She turns, but there is no one. The streets are almost deathly quiet, without even the comforting sight or sound of one of Aveline’s officers out on patrol. She swallows nervously and pulls her cell phone out of the pocket of her jeans.

Her first instinct is, naturally, to punch the speed dial for Uthvir. But after a few more seconds of consideration, when nothing makes a noise or jumps out at her, she reconsiders. This whole thing is probably just in her head anyway. She’s making up excuses to call them because she’s still upset.

She shoots a text to Varric instead. He should probably be aware that a distraught elf is likely to be banging on his door in a few minutes. It only seems polite.

After a little more deliberation, she heads for one of the narrower stairways down to Low Town. The steps are steeper and a bit uneven, and it isn’t as well-lit as the one branching off from the main square, but it is the fastest route to the Hanged Man, shaving off at least five minutes of walking down dark streets. If she’s lucky. 

The eerie sensation of being followed only intensifies as she heads down the dim passageway towards her destination. More and more, she is beginning to suspect that her first instincts were right. And she suddenly realizes that she has no way out until she reaches the bottom and the open market of Low Town.

Aili fumbles for her phone again, but it flies from her hand, bouncing down the stairs with a loud echoing clatter that would indicate that it is most likely very _very_ broken.

She rushes down the steps as quickly as she can, tears burning down her face from fear as well as grief as she grips the rickety iron hand rail.

This was a mistake.

Suddenly a figure brushes past her, heading up the stairs in the opposite direction. She can’t make out their features well in the darkness around them, but she thinks they might be male. For half a moment, she considers asking him for help, if he would at least walk with her down the rest of the stairs, but… he could be just as bad as her stalker.

It was odd, she thinks, that she didn’t hear him coming up the stairs at all.

“Good Evening, Miss,” says a voice in her ear.

The feeling of hands at her back. One great shove. And then…nothing.

She is floating in open air with nothing but cold merciless stone stretching out beneath her.

For half a second she panics, as she thinks the catches the sound of a wet gurgling scream from somewhere behind her. Her survival instincts rush into her in a flood of adrenaline an instant later, however, and she finds herself twisting in mid-air. Protecting her softer organs from the fall. Protecting the baby.

Her next thought is for magic. This isn’t the sort of thing that really got covered in the training she did with her clan’s Keeper, but…a barrier should be good for something, right?

She calls mana to her fingertips, igniting them briefly with a flickering green glow as she struggles to concentrate.

The light in her hands illuminates a figure less than a foot away from her face.

Uthvir.

Uthvir with their face contorted in a mixture of rage and terror, reaching out for her with sharp, blood-smeared hands, a pair of huge shadowy wings swirling about them like some sort of vengeful bird of prey.

Aili screams.

Their arms wrap around her anyway. And then there is more twisting. The stairwell is too narrow for their wings to be of much use. The rush of falling. A dull heavy thud of flesh hitting stone. Pain burning up one of her arms.

For a few moments she is too stunned to move. She is not entirely certain she _can_ move. Some strange voice in her mind insisting that they should both probably be dead.

When Aili finally pushes herself up off of Uthvir with her hands, her left wrist all but screams in protest. Which at least confirms her theory that she isn’t dead yet. She tucks it against her chest with a muffled whimper before looking down at her timely rescuer.

Uthvir’s wings are still out, large and dark, contorted into painfully awkward-looking shapes around them. There are feathers everywhere. They aren’t moving.

“Uthvir?” she croaks out, placing a hand on their shoulder and shaking them gently. “Vhenan, can you hear me?”

Silence.

She presses her fingers to their neck, seeking a pulse. After a few tense moments, she feels their heartbeat thump erratically, and heaves a great sigh of relief. She can see their chest rising and falling as well. Both good signs.

Then she notices a pool of blood spreading out from underneath their hair.

Aili rushes to pat down their pockets, hoping that they took their phone with them and that it somehow survived the fall. She unearths it from the depths of one of their back pockets and frantically punches in the number for the emergency help line.

Once she is certain that an ambulance is on the way, she turns her full attention back to Uthvir.

“Vhenan…Vhenan, you must put your wings away, if you can,” Aili urges them, stroking their face, “The closest hospital is run by the Chantry, and you know how they can be about…magical oddities.”

Uthvir manages a low pained groan, shifts slightly, and ever so slowly pulls the battered appendages back into themselves. But that seems to be the only communication they are likely to offer. Aili sits beside them anxiously, holding their hand tightly in her own. Waiting for the sound of sirens.

~

By some miracle, she has escaped the accident with nothing worse than a broken wrist. The baby is fine, as far as they can tell, but the doctors insist that she stay overnight so they can monitor her blood pressure and make certain that there are no further complications. Which is fine by her.

Uthvir is bedridden and unconscious. Other than the rather nasty blow to their head, a dislocated shoulder, and some heavy scrapes and bruises along their back, they seem largely unscathed. She’s not sure which one of the gods to thank for that, so she simply runs through the list of all of them. Even crispy Andraste. Better to do too much than not enough.

Aili somehow succeeds in talking the doctors into letting them share a room, promising to get some sleep and not spend the entire night fretting over her significant other’s bedside.

She waits until the nurses leave, and the room is cool and dark and silent, except for the chirps and whirrs of the machines monitoring Uthvir’s condition. Then, very carefully, she crawls up onto the narrow hospital bed next to them, wrapping and arm around their waist and tucking her head beneath their chin.

“…I’m sorry,” she whispers against their skin, counting heartbeats.

She falls asleep to the deep even sound of their breathing , steady and reassuring. ~ It is still dark when she feels them shift. Blinking herself awake to peer up at them. Their eyes are dark and piercing, expression inscrutable in the dim lighting.

Awake though, and awake and angry is much better than incapacitated with pain.

“Vhenan…?” she whispers up at them, a hopeful smile unfurling across her face, “Are you feeling better? Should I call for one of the nurses?”

They do not return the expression. They do not fold and arm around her waist or run their fingers though her hair. They don’t do anything except stare, shrewd eyes boring into her to the point where it is nearly unnerving. 

“…Who are you?”


	7. Fracture

This is their own fault, they realize.

Their own fault for getting Aili that feast day gift. That book, that they knew she wanted. First Edition, more than eighty years old, a doorstopper of rare Dalish myths and legends that was difficult to come by, being both banned by the chantry and deemed heretical by several Dalish clans – who would normally be expected to preserve such texts. Most of the non-digital copies had been destroyed over the years, and even the digital versions tended to be ‘sanitized’ by one group or another. Uthvir knew all of this because they had listened to Aili launch into a thorough explanation of it in the midst of a grossly inaccurate new ‘historical’ television series.

It had taken them months of digging to actually find a copy. That it was First Edition was not as surprising as it might seem, given how few editions there actually _were_. They had waved off the cost when they presented it to Aili for her Feast Day gift – a consolation present, since Andruil was going to have them for the next few days, and they would only be back in town on the last night of the celebration.

“I got you a sweater…” Aili had said, faintly, plopping down onto the couch with the book. Mesmerized and seemingly horrified all at once.

“Fair recompense,” Uthvir promised, shifting a little bit. Wondering if they had inadvertently done something wrong. “I like sweaters.” They had insisted this, firmly, recalling some of Aili’s concerns about repayment and equivalent exchanges.

She had blinked up at them, skeptically.

“Really?”

“Really. They are warm and thick. Very nice,” Uthvir had insisted.

_I like sweaters._

_Really._

_One of my favourite articles of clothing. Cannot possibly get enough of them._

They fold their arms, and stare down at the front of their sweater. The word _Naughty_ scrawled across it in festive cursive. At least it is red, they suppose, as Aili leans over and plops a green hat onto their head.

“You know that these hats are based off of ludicrously offensive stereotypes about mages?” they ask.

Aili shrugs.

“They look floofy. And it matches my sweater,” she counters. Then she wavers, a little bit. “Unless you’re _actually_ offended?”

They can’t say that they are. And as they let out a breath, they suppose they can concede that it’s fine enough, when it’s just the two of them. Or just the two of them and her visiting family. Aili’s candy cane striped tights are adorable, and what is more, very _thin._ They take advantage of that once they are sitting down together; sliding their hand across the material, up towards the fringes of her sweater, until she catches it and presses a chastising kiss to their knuckles.

“Later,” she tells them. Heat in her gaze.

Uthvir leans in, and presses an uncommonly playful kiss to her nose. The bobble of their ridiculous hat dipping down between them.

“I will hold you to that,” they promise, before her father comes back into the room, and she changes their interactions to the pretense of straightening their hat again.

~

The memory feels like a dream. Lingering in the fog of their mind, among other disjointed impressions. Bit by bit, it begins to feel less like _their_ memory, and more like something borrowed from the pages of another mind’s book. The scent of mulled wine, the feel of soft fingers at their cheek. The impressions of colours, and sights, and sounds. Tastes and touches. Their mind is a jagged mess of pain. There is something – their partner, a part of themselves but not. Fear. Fear has been pressed back, jarred loose. And it is dragged away, the memories go with it. Turning them all into faint movie reels, and then dreams, and then nothing that they can reach.

They remember other things, instead. The cold metal of handcuffs on their wrists. Touches that were not gentle. Bile at the back of their throat, and pain in their chest, and desperation. Burning. Sunlit days and Desire, smiling, laughing, kissing them. Lying still and pale on a hospital bed. Their heart leaping into their throat, and then turning to ice. Ice so numb it could withstand _his_ touch. _His_ voice. _His_ breath, and they do not want to remember this. They liked the other memories better, they think, but they cannot find them again.

They are afraid, but Fear cannot reach back for them. It is gone in a flurry of wings and shadows and someone they love being harmed. Being hurt.

_Not again._

Glory sucks in a sharp breath, and opens their eyes. Bright, hospital lights. Their head swims. Pain. Where are they? They blink, and then they realize the weight against them. Restraints. They stiffen, bracing themselves. Reading to see the band of an arm pressed down over their chest. Or straps, maybe. To look over and see _him_ watching them.

But their skin is not crawling the way it does when his eyes are on them. It is tingling, but only with the telltale markers of some intentional change to their appearance. They do not dare remove such things. And though their first glance down reveals a glimpse of fair hair, it is not his. They stare at the tiny woman who has wrapped herself around them. There is something… but…

She shifts, and they watch as she looks up at them. Her expression shifting from misery to hopeful relief, eyes bright in the dimly lit room.

“Vhenan…?” she calls them. Something in them freezes in shock. “Are you feeling better? Should I call for one of the nurses?”

They like the sound of her voice, oddly enough. It feels… right, even if everything has just taken a sharp turn for the baffling. They are wary of the notion, though. Is this some sick new game of Falon’Din’s? Has he decided to start collecting people now? The woman is certainly his type. But if she is, then she is probably another victim of his scheming.

Far from ideal.

“…Who are you?” they finally ask.

Her expression crashes so thoroughly, that they almost regret the question.


	8. The Next Step

It is dark in their apartment when they finally come home from the hospital. It has been a few weeks since the accident, and most of their more superficial injuries have long since healed. The mages at the hospital had used magic to mend Aili’s wrist, but newly healed bones have a tendency to be a bit fragile, so they had put a cast on her anyway. It is horribly itchy, but at least her friends had all banded together to make it look a bit more festive-looking. Even though Isabela had been banned from brandishing any writing implements anywhere near her after several attempts at decorating her arm with genitalia. 

Uthvir does not seem to be any worse for wear, excepting the obvious…amnesia.

The doctors had not been able to say much about it one way or another. Uthvir’s head injury had seemed like a moderate concussion at worst, but whatever had happened, it was apparently enough to pry loose all the memories of their life together. The doctors had spent days poking and prodding at them, doing scans and trying different spells, with no conclusive results one way or another. Until finally Aili had put her foot down, and declared that if all they were going to do was sit around and wait to get better, they might as well do it at home.

_‘They might be better in a few weeks, or a few years. Or…they might not get better at all. Head injuries can be funny like that._

Funny. As though Aili should find something about this situation humorous. As though she might look back on this at some point in time and find it worth laughing about. She knows it isn’t exactly fair to take out her frustrations on the hospital staff, but she can’t quite help herself. She and Uthvir had hit a hiccup in their relationship, and she had left in of the night. Like an idiot. And gotten herself into trouble that Uthvir had to scrape her out of. And that was how they’d gotten hurt. And now the doctors can’t even make them better.

She is furious with herself and out of patience for medical ‘experts’ who can’t seem to do anything except run up more bills for them to pay. And she can’t even apologize properly, because Uthvir doesn’t remember that they had a relationship, let alone that they had any sort of falling out.

True to their nature, however, Uthvir seems to betaking things more or less in stride. The conversation about the status of their relationship had been awkward, to say the least. But outside of seeming mildly surprised about being engaged to a woman who is now a virtual stranger, they had actually taken the news rather well. Aili could tell that a fair amount of their reactions had been a façade, likely meant to avoid overturning the applecart until they had a better grasp on the situation, but they had been accepting and gracious about her presence all the same.

Which is why she still hasn’t quite gotten up the nerve to tell them about the baby just yet. 

The doctors had told her to avoid shocking them with any sort of news that might cause undue stress, as it might make their memories regress even further, or potentially even cause some sort of mental break. She is supposed to slowly introduce them to things that might trigger recollections. Foods they enjoy. Favorite haunts. Familiar scents. Family and home.

Aili would concede the right to make decisions about their health to Uthvir’s relations, albeit reluctantly, but they had never mentioned anyone. No parents or siblings. Not even a favorite aunt or a distant cousin. She knows they must have come from _somewhere_ , but it has never been a comfortable topic of discussion. It hadn’t seemed to matter much before, anyway. Her friends were their friends. And she was more than ready to share her family with them, too. And to build their own family together.

However, the idea that they were soon to be a parent had been a bit jarring for them, even when they _did_ know who she was. And Aili would just as soon not press her luck with things that might impede the healing process. So, thus far, she has simply kept her little secret to herself. 

“The bedroom is the last door back through there, and the bathroom is the door on your left,” she explains, pointing down the hallway past the living room, “There’s a full bath with a very spacious tub, and a separate shower as well. The other room back there is set up to be your office. It was originally meant to be a second bedroom, but…um. Well. There didn’t seem to be much need for one when you moved in, I guess. …Or when I moved in, either.”

“I am not opposed to relinquishing my work space in order to give you your own bedroom, if that is your desire,” Uthvir says quietly, their tone bordering on contrite. 

“That might be the best option, if we both decide that I should keep living here,” Aili agrees with a smile that can’t quite manage to be as reassuring as she would like, “No sense shifting everything around if I’m going to be moving out anyway. But for now, I’ll make do with the pull-out couch.”

“I would not wish to throw you out of your own apartment,” Uthvir frowns, glancing around the place uncertainly, “If one of us has to move, it seems only fair that it should be me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Aili admonishes, “I could never afford this place on my own. I’ve got friends I can stay with until I find a new place, and if worst comes to worst, I can always move back in with my parents for a little while. It’s not like you’d be throwing me out into the streets. Plus, the doctors told us told us that a familiar environment is supposed to be conducive to you making a full recovery.”

“I’m afraid this environment is hardly familiar,” they sigh.

Aili makes a face, and they wince just slightly.

“Sorry. It was not my intention to seem…callous. It seems like a pleasant enough place to live.”

“It’s not your fault,” she asserts hastily, “You are handling things remarkably well, given the circumstances. I’m sure this all feels really weird. It’s just…there’s a lot of history here, you know? Nearly five years’ worth of memories. Not _all_ of them were happy, of course, but… They were good. And it…feels odd to be the only one who remembers, I guess. Almost lonely, even though that doesn’t make much sense.”

“I am sorry”, Uthvir says again, “I…I do _want_ to remember, if that means anything.”

“It means something,” she assures them with a curling smile that manages to be much more genuine than her last. “Now. Do youwant me to show you around a bit more, or would you prefer to get some sleep?”

“I think, perhaps, it would be best for both of us is we got some rest,” they say with another sigh, “I imagine the time spent at the hospital was trying for both of us.”

“Sounds good,” Aili agrees easily, “And who knows, maybe this place will seem more familiar to you by daylight.”

She does not seem as though she has much faith in the idea.

“Perhaps,” Uthvir allows, sounding rather doubtful themselves.

“Well, I’ll just grab a blanket or two out of the closet in the bedroom, and maybe some pajamas that don’t smell like a hospital,” she tells them as she begins to make her way down the hall,“Then I’ll come set myself up out here, and you can get settled. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Aili…” they call after her, taking a few hesitant steps to follow, “It is…really more your bedroom than mine. I…do not know what I may have been like before. But I am not quite cold enough to toss you out of your own bed.”

Aili blinks at them for a moment in obvious surprise. Uthvir shifts slightly in uncertainty, and she can’t help but give a faint snort of wry amusement.

“You weren’t all that bad, I promise,” she says smilingly, “I mean, I did agree to marry you and everything. Or you agreed to marry me, I’m not entirely certain which. I wasn’t completely awake at the time. It was the end of a pretty long and exhausting day.”

Aili meets their gaze and finds herself blushing. Remembering the things that had occurred at the end of that day that had made it particularly tiring, but unsure whether it is appropriate to bring them up under the given circumstances. She clears her throat and twists her fingers together, suddenly awkward.

“Anyway, I can sleep just about anywhere,” she shrugs, “And you’ve always had a bit more trouble in that regard. I…don’t want you to feel like you’re just a guest here. This is your home.”

“A pull-out couch is more than adequate,” they insist. “And if I were to be perfectly honest, sleeping in the bedroom would not make me feel like any less of an intruder. In fact, I suspect it would make me feel like more of one, if anything.”

“Alright, you win,” Aili sighs, her expression wilting a bit as she holds up her hands in a gesture of defeat. “Just let me grab _you_ a few blankets, and then we can set up the couch. I think the linen closet has a few extra pillows, too.”

A few minutes later, once she has piled the couch with every spare blanket they have and relinquished all but two of the pillows on the bed, Aili and Uthvir bid each other a somewhat stilted goodnight. She pulls off her clothes, tugs on one of Uthvir’s old sweaters, and finds herself alone in the dark. In a bedroom that suddenly seems very large and empty.

It won’t be the first time she’s slept in here by herself, of course. Uthvir’s job frequently called them away for weeks at a time, and sometimes they couldn’t even get internet access, or send her a text message for several days together. She is used to things separating them, to some extent.

This is different. 

Uthvir is here. Right down the hall. Potentially staring up at the ceiling and wondering if everything she’s told them about their life together is a lie. And yet, she cannot reach them. 

If losing their memories has made them anything like when they first met, Aili has a long arduous journey in front of her to get any wherenear their heart again. And although she suspects that she probably could have talked them into sharing the bed with her, and potentially even having sex if she was really desperate, but it would not get her what she truly wants. Which is, of course, for their relationship to be the way it was before.

The laughter and easy affection. The comfortable routines. The unspoken trust.

She wants them to love her again. 

There’s not much she can do about it right now, however. So, she burrows under the covers, and tries to pretend that they are simply away on another business trip. Squeezing the extra pillow she had kept for herself tightly in her arms. She had wrapped it in one of their old worn work out shirts, and between that and their familiar smell on her commandeered sweater, Aili can almost imagine that she’s holding them as she drifts to sleep.

Almost.

~

Aili wakes with the sun, as is usual, and the apartment is silent and still. No sounds of the radio or the television or the shower running. No smell of coffee or other breakfast foods being made. Not even the sound of careful footsteps padding their way down the hall. It seems odd, because Uthvir is usually awake a few hours before her at the very least. 

Her first thought is sleep-fogged and irrational- that they have snuck out in the night and run off somewhere in order to escape her. But she shakes the it away with determination as she clambers out of the sheets and shuffles in the general direction of the living room. Uthvir might be overwhelmed and confused by the situation, which is completely understandable, but there has been no indication that they are _afraid_ of her. It is much more likely that they are simply reading or looking into something on their computer, or some other quiet activity.

She is more than a little surprised to find them still asleep.

They have burrowed beneath the blankets she had given them, and smooshed most of the pillows into some kind of fortification, which is nothing less than she had expected. But their usual sleep pattern tends to be…erratic, at best. The fact that the sound of her shuffling into the living room did not wake them is enough out of character for her to be concerned.

Perhaps they have a fever?

They do not look flushed, nor do they appear to be sweating, despite the layers they have wrapped around themselves. She hesitates for a moment, not wanting to disturb them, but not wanting to ignore a potential crisis either. In the end though, worry wins out, and she carefully reaches over and places her palm against their forehead for a few seconds.

Warm, but not alarmingly so. She holds her breath as they shift slightly in their sleep. Heaving a deep sigh of relief when they do not wake. 

Fears abated, she smiles as she gives them a second look. There is not much to be seen except their face and a brown tuft of sleep-mussed hair poking out from the blankets, but their expression is nearly…peaceful. They are usually such a light sleeper that even on the rare occasion when she wakes before they do, the slightest sound or movement is enough to rouse them.

It is a change, but not necessarily a bad one.

The sight of them on the pull-out couch brings back memories. It was rare for both her and Uthvir to have the same day off of work, and it was even more rare for them to spend such an occasion in their apartment, but every now and then they would steal the chance to be lazy together. Making a blanket fort out in the living room and bingeing on old monster movie sand whatever leftovers and snacks were in the kitchen. Anything that required more than a reheat in the microwave was vetoed. Both of them still in pajamas by noon. Sometimes even less than that, if snuggling together for warmth turn into something a bit more heated. Which it usually did. And then the next time she would try to leave their little fortress to get something, Uthvir would always end up snaking their arms around her waist, tugging her back onto the mattress with a devious expression while she attempted to scold them through her laughter. 

It’s a bit of a bittersweet recollection now.

Never the less, it gives her the idea of making them breakfast before they wake up. There is a bit of novelty to it, since she’s never gotten the opportunity to do it before. And it seems like a good way to welcome them home.

Aili doesn’t know if losing their memories will affect the sort of foods Uthvir likes. It obviously seems to have changed their sleep cycle, after all. So, she decides to go all out, and make a bit of everything. There isn’t a lot of food in the apartment at the moment, but they had picked up the essentials on the way home last night, so there should be enough for this.

Scrambled eggs with mushrooms and peppers. Strong black coffee. Thick slices of warm buttery toast.

Aili makes a strong cup of tea to keep up her stamina and decides to turn on the radio in the kitchen while she works. The volume is set low, but she figures that if her thumping her way down the hall and poking at their face didn’t wake Uthvir up, a little music is probably safe. The tune is bouncy, and she finds it lifting her spirits a bit as she triumphantly unearths a box of waffle mix from one of the cabinets and begins the process of assembling ingredients for them and stirring the batter in a large bowl.

Just in case they’re in the mood for something sweet.

The smell of food cooking definitely brightens her mood, along with the thought that she is actively _doing something_ to help Uthvir. Sure, coffee and eggs and waffles might not bring their memories back, but they still need to eat. And a sunny morning with a good meal are always a good way to begin a difficult task.

Aili starts to sway around the kitchen as she stirs and checks the eggs and throws a generous handful of dark chocolate chips into the waffle batter. The song is not one of her personal favorites, but she’s heard it enough times to follow along. Nodding her head and occasionally using her spoon as a microphone.

It takes her a few minutes to register the figure standing in the doorway.

“Oh!” she exclaims as she catches sight of Uthvir watching her curiously, dropping her bowl on the floor with a loud crash. Splattering waffle batter and shards of ceramic pottery across a good part of he kitchen floor. “ _Shit!_ ”

“I’m sorry,” Uthvir hastily apologies, stepping further into the room with the obvious intent of helping to clean up the mess they caused, but then pausing as they get closer to her. As though thinking better of it. “I did not mean to alarm you.”

“It’s fine,” Aili insists awkwardly, feeling a bit embarrassed about being caught acting silly. She kneels down and begins picking up the stray bits of broken bowl before one of them manages to cut their foot. “I just…thought it might be nice to make you breakfast, that’s all.”

Uthvir can’t quite seem to look at her for some reason. She feels an unexpected swell of hurt rising in her throat.

“Is…something wrong?” she wonders, “Did you want to go get breakfast from somewhere else or something?”

“I have no objections to your cooking,” Uthvir assures her, “It is just… Well. You are not… You are only wearing a sweater.”

Aili looks down at her lap, and realizes that the way she is sitting likely gives them a fairly generous view of her underpants. She lets out a squeak of mild distress and shifts her legs together, tugging the hem of her shirt down to cover as much as she can. Her face feels like it must be on fire.

“I am _so_ sorry! I always sleep like this- in this! This sort of thing,” she explains in a rush, grabbing up another piece of shattered crockery and cutting her finger in the process. She lets out a yelp, cursing loudly before sticking her injured appendage in her mouth and sucking at it to stop the bleeding. 

Uthvir steps over and turns off the stove, handily rescuing the eggs from disaster as they grab a roll of paper towels from the counter top and bends down to help her clean up the floor.

“You can wear whatever kind of clothing you like,” they tell her, “For sleeping, or anything else. And you can cook whenever you want to. Even if I am sleeping, or out of the apartment for some reason. I…do not know what I might have been like before, but… You should do whatever you need to take care of yourself.”

They reach over, and take her wrist very gently in their hand, pulling it away from her mouth so they can inspect her wounded finger.

Aili blinks at them, slightly confused.

“I can take care of myself,” she promises, frowning slightly, “I just…like taking care of you, too. Not that you really need me to, of course. But…isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in a relationship? Don’t you just want to spoil people a bit sometimes when you’re in love?”

It is Uthvir’s turn to look a bit confused, but it seems to be quickly replaced with something else. Something she can’t quite place. Whatever emotion it is, it seems to be a very intense one, making her squirm a little as she waits for a reply.

“Something smells like cinnamon,” Uthvir notes after a few moments of silence.

“Oh…um,” Aili fumbles, blindsided by the sudden change of topic, “I put a bit of cinnamon in my tea. It’s apple flavored, so…”

“Yes,” Uthvir nods, their brows rising in slight surprise, “That seems…familiar.”

“Did you remember something?!” Aili gasps, reaching over with her free hand to clasp theirs.

“I…do not know,” they admit, “Nothing solid, I’m afraid. Just…the smell of it seems…nice.”

Aili beams at them so brightly that for a moment Uthvir almost seems wrong-footed about their admission. But then they smile in return. A bit uncertain, but still genuine.

“I will get a bandage for your finger,” they tell her, “They’re in the bathroom, yes?”

“Yes,” Aili confirms, “But it’d be faster for me to do it. You don’t know where they are…”

“I have to learn at some point,” they shrug, getting up off the floor and walking out of the kitchen.

Aili finds herself smiling as she uses the paper towels to get most of the mess off the floor. Some things about them might have changed, but they are still Uthvir. She can work with that. Even if they can’t have exactly what they had before, they can still build something together. She wants to try.

And even if they can’t have waffles with their breakfast, she thinks things seem to be off to a pretty good start.

At least, until Uthvir walks back into the kitchen a few minutes later with a dangerously familiar pink and purple box in their hands. She briefly wonders how the cleaners managed to miss one of her used pregnancy tests. But any queries of her own are instantly quelled by the expression on Uthvir’s face as they hold it out to her. Questioning.

_Oh no…_


	9. Burnt

Glory is more than a little alarmed when they get up to their floor of the apartment building, and hear the shrill notes of a smoke alarm as one only _just_ stops screeching. They pause for a moment, eyes wide and heart speeding up. A few of the doors in the hallway are opened; curious people staring out. A pair of neighbours near to their own apartment casually confirm that the alarm wasn’t either of theirs. Which does not bode well; Glory recollects themselves and moves and starts moving again, heading right for the apartment.

When they get inside, the first thing they become aware of is the acrid smell in the air.

“Aili?!” they call out, alarmed now. Was there a _fire…?_

“It’s okay!” AIli calls back, though she doesn’t _sound_ okay. Glory can see, though, that there is a decided lack of billowing flames; and the smoke is coming from the kitchen. They move over towards the entryway, shifting their shopping bags - they realized they were running low on some things that morning - and make their way in past the foul-smelling air, and the lingering sort of shrillness that tends to come after an alarm has been silenced. A glance upwards reveals that the smoke alarm has been silenced with a spell.

Most of Aili’s attention, however, is reserved for the dejected look she’s giving the contents of a pie dish.

The _very burnt_ contents of a pie dish.

Glory sucks in a breath, and lets it out again. Once again glad that they have lost their connection to Fear.

“Baking accident?” they guess. Though, they suppose they don’t get many points for it.

Aili nods.

“I wanted pie,” she explains. “And I thought it would be nice if you came back and there were delicious baking smells and we could eat it together. But… I don’t know what went _wrong,_ I followed the instructions! Most of them, at least. I didn’t set the oven too hot… I don’t think…”

Glory glances at the oven in question.

…That is _definitely_ too hot.

They can’t even muster the energy to give Aili a sceptical glance, though. She looks too utterly crestfallen for it. Instead, they simply reach over and turn off the oven - before it takes the apartment along with the pie - and put the grocery bags down onto the counter instead. With only a slight flourish (because this seems like an even better idea now) they reach into the bag, and pull out the ready-made apple pie they’d gotten from the that weird little Orlesian bagel shop. Fresh from the oven, too, though that’s a little harder to tell, with the scent of burnt pastry still lingering in the air.

“No harm done,” they say, and summon up a smile. Aili blinks, still in her oven mitts, still holding her burnt pie, as they tilt the box so she can see through the plastic film window in the top. “We can have pie anyway.”

Aili smiles.

And then, too their horror, her lip wobbles. And her eyes become alarmingly wet.

“Oh,” she says. “You got.. that’s… you…”

Glory abruptly feels like a deer caught in headlights. It’s not a good feeling. They flounder, searching for a possible solution. They’ve never been good with crying people. And Aili, in their experience, isn’t prone to it - there have been plenty of situations that have had far worse implications than a _burnt pie,_ amnesia and injury not least among them. But then again, she _is_ pregnant, and while Glory is no expert they know enough to know that pregnancy tends to make outbursts more likely. Hormones, or maybe just the inevitable stresses and concerns, or both.

“Hey,” they say, and put the pie down. They reach for Aili’s, almost touching it before they feel the heat still coming off of it, and realize it might be stupid to take something she’s holding with oven mitts on. She seems to notice it at the same moment they do, and hastily puts it down herself.

“It’s hot,” she says, as a few tears escape from the corners of her eyes. “It’s hot and _burnt_ and _ruined_ and you brought me a pie from my _favourite place…”_

She trails off, yanking off an oven mitt and using it to swipe at some of the moisture on her face.

Her favourite place?

They turn, and glance at the pie. Oh. They hadn’t realized…

…Which probably at least _partly_ explains the odd reaction. They still don’t remember, after all. And whatever kind of person Fear made them into, apparently they were at least decent enough to bring the girl they’d bamboozled some baked treats now and again.

Aili shakes her head at herself.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and Glory wonders if they were ever cruel to her over things like this. If they’d become the sort of person, with Fear, who might slam the door and might shout about the scent of smoke in the air. Might sneer and toss her efforts aside, call her something cruel; drive the knife in deeper. Or maybe they were more subtle. Maybe they were the kind of person who just made sarcastic, passive-aggressive remarks about it being a good thing she’s pretty, and how Maker knows no one would keep her around for her _skills._

They look at the burnt ruination of the pie.

“It’s not that bad,” they say.

Aili shakes her head again, and puts the oven mitts down. She lets out a sigh. Her stomach is only just starting to show. There’s a certain roundness to it, they might easily still be taken for a few too many non-burnt pies.

“It’s blackened,” she declares. And it is. But Glory is determined, now. They purse their lips and open up a drawer, pulling out a fork and then prying off some of the top layer of ash.

Underneath the burning, the pastry looks… frozen.

Hmm.

“The filling’s probably still good,” they hazard, and then nudge her over towards the pie from the shop. “Go on, you start in on that one, and I’ll give this a try. It should be interesting.”

“You don’t have to…” Aili begins.

“I want to try it,” they insist.

It works. She brightens a little, even though there’s something still a little wobbly about her smile. It strengthens their resolve again, and they dig their spoon into the pie filling. Which looks cooked, and Glory is thinking it’s probably something from out of a can, as they bring the fork to their lips.

The scent is their first and only warning. Aili is still watching them curiously, though, and so Glory doesn’t heed it. They only just take enough time to brace themselves before they get the forkful of filling onto their tongue, and confirm that yes, that is indeed - inexplicably - the taste of _burnt garlic._ And… ginger, maybe. Eye-watering ginger. Something crunches between their teeth as they bite down. A slightly different texture from the apples, which haven’t cooked through, and also might be potatoes?

Glory manages to get the mouthful down without either spitting it back up or losing their poker face.

“Well?” Aili asks them, tentatively. “How is it?”

“Delicious,” they say, with a smile. They smack their lips, which might be a little over the top, but honestly they’re trying to get the lingering flavour of burnt garlic off of them now.

“Really?” Aili asks, and brightens even further. Before they can think of a good way to stop her, then, she takes the fork straight out of their hand, and tries some of the filling herself.

It barely gets past her lips before she spits it back up again.

Glory winces.

“Ugh,” she says. “What the heck?! That wasn’t what I thought it would taste like _at all…!”_

“It… it has a certain… charm,” they insist.

She gives them a thoroughly unconvinced look.

“I might not be able to _make_ food, but I can still _taste_ it,” she replies. And then she levels a finger at their nose. “And you’re doing that thing you do when you lie. The thing with your mouth.”

Glory blinks.

Their lips twitch, and they’re not even entirely sure what’s got them so amused. Having a ‘tell’ is actually really bad news for them. But Aili doesn’t look liable to burst into tears again… and maybe that matters more, right now.

“What thing with my mouth?” they ask.

Aili looks at them for a moment. And then she straightens her shoulders, and relaxes her facial features. Her eyebrows go up slightly - not enough to constitute a look of surprise, or disdain, but just enough to give her a slightly more _deliberate_ air than usual. And then one corner of her mouth lifts higher than the other.

Then she adopts her normal expression again.

“ _That,”_ she explains. “It’s like instead of going all neutral you try and seem slightly amused, like you’re telling a joke and nobody else is in on it yet. I used to think you _were_ , that you were always mocking people, but you look different when you’re actually doing that. Your voice changes.”

Well. That’s good to know, they suppose.

“I had acting lessons as a child,” they admit. “Neutral expressions actually tend to make people more suspicious than if you look like you _are_ up to something, but not whatever it is that they _think_ you’re up to.”

Aili hesitates, just for a moment.

“You had acting lessons?” she probes.

Glory doesn’t take the opening to talk more about their past, and instead simply nods. Then they move to go open the window and, with the charade done, pull open the fridge to get something to wash the taste out of their mouth with.

They hear Aili let out a small sigh, and then the rustling of a plastic bag; disposing of the burnt pie and tying it off at least clears some more of the scent from the room. Though the atmosphere has gone from dismal to awkward in very short order.

Glory puts away the rest of the groceries, and then picks up the shop pie, and grabs some plates and forks.

“Want to eat this in the other room?” they suggest. “We could watch television.”

Aili graces them with another smile - and another sigh.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she decides.


	10. An Ice Cream

“At this rate, our child is going to be made of nothing but sweets,” Uthvir informs Aili when she finally manages to waddle her way home from work, a towering triple-scoop ice cream cone in her hand.

She’s almost surprised when they don’t offer their usual commentary on how she should not be going anywhere by herself, because ‘it isn’t safe’, and ‘think of the baby’, and ‘what if you have to walk up a flight of stairs?’ Then again, she is fairly certain they have started paying someone to follow her. Part of her finds it ridiculous, and another much quieter part of her finds it reassuring. And yet another part of her finds it ridiculous that she should find it reassuring.

Normal people do not enjoy the thought of their fiancé hiring people to stalk them.

Regardless, Aili grins at them toothily and rubs the growing swell of her stomach.

“Baby knows what’s good,” she declares blithely, “Besides, you’re the one who’s always insisting that I need to be eating more. Even though I’ve already swollen up to the size of a bronto.”

“Hardly,” Uthvir counters with a dismissive wave of their hand, “You are actually below the average weight of someone entering the third trimester of their pregnancy, as you well know. Which is why I suggested eating more food. _Real_ food. With vitamins and proteins, and not simply grabbing whatever strange mix of sugar and fat happens to come into your line of vision.”

“I’m not underweight, I’m just small,” Aili protests, slowly making her way over to where they are sitting on the couch, “Just like you are small and, if genetics has anything to say about it, the baby is going to be small, too. Unless she gets her height from her grandpa. Besides, if you want me to gain more weight, junk food seems like the logical thing for me to be eating.”

“Your reasoning is flawed, but I know better than to argue with you,” they sigh in resignation, one corner of their mouth twitching upwards despite themselves as they scoot over a bit so she can plop down next to them. It has been months since the accident, but Uthvir still seems to get tripped up over casual affection every now and again. They hesitate, uncertain for half a minute, before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She slumps into them as a sign of approval, and they let out a quiet breath of what almost seems like relief.

“You are right to concede,” she hums in contentment, taking lick of her ice cream, “If you’re not nice to me, I won’t share.”

“You know I am not overly fond of ice cream, or, in fact, most of the sweets you have been indulging in,” Uthvir reminds her pointedly. “Have you managed to completely close down poor Pride’s shop yet? I thought I had heard rumors of you walking out of the place with at least two of everything he had on display.”

She sticks her tongue out at them as a rebuttal.

“You like _some_ things that are sweet,” she declares with a distinct air of mischief, leaning over to ply them with what is sure to be a somewhat sticky, sugar-glazed kiss.

She shifts awkwardly in the attempt, straining, still unfamiliar with how to steer her own body with all its recent additions. Her arm wavers. And suddenly the towering confection of her slightly melted ice cream is toppling onto Uthvir’s well-tailored dress pants with a splat. 

They raise their eyebrows at her, and she opens her mouth, intending to laugh. To kiss them anyway. To make some flip comment about eating the ice cream from exactly where it landed in their lap.

But then the distant memory of dousing them in bubblegum milkshake rises up in her mind. And the time they both nearly froze to death in her tiny studio apartment when the heat went out. The night they ended up in a bar fight because she had accidentally clocked someone in the face on the dance floor. The first time she tried to kiss them, so nervous that she had managed to slam her nose into their chin, giving her a bruise and handing them what seemed like and endless amount of amusement. She had thought that was going to be the end of things, but then they had kissed her, a playfully chaste one right on the aching bridge of her poor nose. And then a far more heated one to her lips. And then several more to…other places.

There are tears burning in her eyes.

A few moments later, and she is wracked with sobs, wiping at her eyes and blubbering incoherent apologies as she clutches her empty ice cream cone. 

She wants Uthvir back. They’ve reached an understanding, and she is almost certain they have at least some amount of affection and regard for her, but there is a part of her that wonders if they are not simply playing along with the story she told them about their life together. Because she seemed desperate. Because she said they got her pregnant. Because they didn’t know what else to do.

“I l-love you,” she manages to hiccup out after a few solid minutes of nothing but crying.

Uthvir looks completely blindsided, and also like they suspect she might have gone just the tiniest bit mad. Which only makes her cry harder. Of course.

“It is only a pair of pants,” they try to reassure her, sounding worried and awkwardly patting at her back as they move to get up from the couch. Giving her space. “I am not upset, truly. …I believe there is more ice cream in the freezer, would that help?”

She nods dumbly, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

They turn from her and head towards the kitchen. She casts a forlorn glance at her empty waffle cone, and the mess still splattered on the sofa cushions. Her stomach rumbles.

“Can you bring those leftover spicy noodles from yesterday, too?” Aili calls after them, her voice still thick and shaky, “And some pickles?”

“Your stomach is going to launch an open rebellion if you keep dropping such grotesque mixtures of food into it,” they chide softly as they come back into the living room, the requested items piled onto a tray along with some fruit and other snacks she might be interested in, which they place on the coffee table in front of her.

She picks up a pickle and takes a large crunching bite out of it, the briny taste contrasting sharply with the sweet echoes of ice cream. Odd, but strangely not unpleasant. Uthvir is staring at her, as though they expect her to suddenly burst into another bout of food-related tears.

She doesn’t blame them, really.

“I really do love you, though,” she sniffles quietly. Her eyes and throat feel swollen, and she is certain she must look like an absolute fright, but neither of them have ever been the best at choosing when to be romantic.

In lieu of a reply, Uthvir leans over and kisses her, ice cream-pickle breath and all. And, she thinks, even if they have no memories, they are still somehow very much themselves. And that can be enough. 


	11. Two in the Bush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skipping to Deawyn and Thenvunin! Also, no one is actually in a bush during this story, though it is a near thing. X3

Thenvunin has just managed to get his last lock of hair into his curlers for the evening, when he hears the ominous shrill of one of his songbirds in distress.

Not coming from the back garden, in fact, but coming from the _front_ of the house. Where no songbirds should be, none at all.

He’s out of the door in a flash, hurriedly yanking his evening gown closed and thankful that he at least already has his slippers on. The streetlights are on, and all of his birds should be asleep, but it doesn’t take Thenvunin long at all to spot the flash of bright purple feathers in one of the narrow, silvery trees that act as an informal barricade between his front path and the sidewalk.

Another distressed cry has him pelting pell-mell down the front walk, forgetting for a moment to worry about the neighbours and what they might think. Purple feathers - that will either be Windcrest or, more likely Sunset’s Smile - it’s nesting season for songbirds, and Sunset hadn’t been entirely pleased with the materials that Thenvunin gave her, for some reason. He had been planning to get her some alternatives tomorrow, but apparently she had decided to take matters into her own hands, and somehow escaped.

She probably figured out how to from watching Screecher do it. No matter how many shielding wards and fences Thenvunin puts up, that menace always escapes on him! Not that Screecher ever really goes _far,_ but still. There are much too many ways for a pet bird to get injured out in the wild. Thenvunin reaches the tree and confirms that the bird is indeed his Sunset. She has the red marks on her stomach, and it looks as though she hurt herself somehow. Probably passing through one of the barriers meant to keep her _in._ Thenvunin will have to check for gaps, and have someone over to do the wards all fresh again. He never has had the knack for it, himself.

But, more pressingly, his bird is distressed and stuck in a place that she’s not supposed to be.

Thenvunin tries coaxing her down, just to see if he can manage it. He extends an arm up towards the branches and starts making cooing noises, but even though she answers him, she just intersperses her replies with sounds of distress, and refuses to move off of the branch she’s on. Her wing feathers look bent, though it’s hard to tell in the evening light, with the shadows from the tree branches in the way.

Thenvunin considers going to get a ladder. There’s one just by the back door. But that would mean leaving Sunset by herself, and what if she tries to follow him?

No, he’ll just have to climb.

With an internal curse and a prayer that no unfortunate breezes stir his evening gown, he tightens his belt, checks up and down the sidewalk - no one seems to be out, at least, and the nearest neighbours have their curtains drawn - and then starts shinning his way up the tree. Wincing as the bark scrapes his calves a little.

It’s a sturdy tree, though, and not too tall, and he just needs to reach Sunset…

The sound of tires slowly moving down the road escapes him, as the tree rustles nearby. He doesn’t hear the sound of an electric window sliding down, either, though he does notice the shift in light, as a set of headlights come in close. But that’s as much warning as he gets before he’s startled by the sound of a baby’s upset cry breaking through the night. His hands shift, impulses at odds with one another, and in an instant he manages to loses his footing.

Thevunin falls out of the tree, and lands squarely on his backside.

The baby stops crying, wherever it is, but sunset starts up again. Thenvunin winces, and then hurried tries to get back to his feet. His cheeks burn as he realizes that his evening gown has gone entirely askew - and he feels dread in his gut as he hears a car door open and close.

“Are you alright?”

The owner of the voice is not a man who Thenvunin recognizes. The only minor consolation he can draw from the situation is that the man is dressed fairly ridiculously himself; wearing a set of loose pyjama pants, and an off-white t-shirt with some sort of band name printed on the front. No shoes. It’s a warm night, but Thenvunin’s excuse is that he had just rushed out of his home - judging by the car parked next to the sidewalk, this man had been _driving around_ like that, for some unfathomable reason.

Still, he gets himself up, and straightens himself out.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Thank you for your concern.”

The man gives him a _wholly_ unwelcome once-over, at his assertion. His gaze lingers on Thenvunin’s hair, in its curlers, and then trails down over his robes, stopping briefly at his bare feet, before flitting up to his eyes again. Thenvunin’s gut twists in humiliation. He folds his arms, and very nearly marches back inside, before he recollects that poor Sunset is still stuck up her tree.

“Were you climbing a tree in a bath robe at nine o’clock at night?” the stranger asks him.

Thenvunin lifts his chin.

“I hardly see what business it is of yours what I do,” he snaps back, and does _not_ appreciate the way the man’s eyes flit to his biceps. Entertaining _lascivious_ thoughts, no doubt. Thenvunin just wants him to _leave,_ but he hesitates a moment longer, and then he hears - of all things - the sound of a baby crying again.

This time, though, he can easily tell where it’s coming from. The parked car just behind the stranger.

The man turns himself and hurries back over to it, leaning in through the window.

“Hey, hey,” he croons. “It’s okay, Tin-Tin, I’m right here. I’m just helping the loony man who fell out of a tree, but he’s okay, nobody got hurt.”

Thenvunin bristles.

“I am _not_ a ‘loony man’,”he insists, managing to keep his voice low, despite protesting. When the stranger glances back towards him, he folds his arms.

Sunset starts warbling in distress again, though, and that undoes him.

“Oh my poor girl,” he says.

“Is that a songbird?” the stranger asks, squinting back at the tree, as the baby seems to settle. “I didn’t think those were wild…”

“They aren’t,” Thenvunin informs him, shortly. “Sunset is one of _my_ birds. Somehow she managed to escape the enclosure around back, and hurt herself. I was just… well. Trying to get her down, before anything worse could happen.”

Sunset warbles again, and he gives in and croons back at her. Let the man on the street think he’s out of his mind, he probably already does anyway, so Thenvunin has nothing to gain by stressing his poor bird out any further.

The stranger watches for a moment. Looking at the tree, and then at the car, and then ogling Thenvunin once again.

“Well, you… probably shouldn’t go climbing up that tree again. You’ve scraped your calf pretty badly,” he observes.

  
Thenvunin glances down, and, past the sting of humiliation and the worry and surprise of this ordeal, sees that he’s right. The itching sensation at his ankle that he’d barely been aware of is blood, and the skin of his calf is scraped and split. He wince, and then thins his lips.

“I can _hardly_ leave her here, she’s hurt herself,” he counters, gesturing to Sunset. “And who knows what might get at her out here? The neighbours cats are darlings but I wouldn’t trust them an inch with one of my birds…”

“Well,” the man says again, and lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. He looks very scruffy, and is still dressed entirely inappropriately for driving. Though, Thenvunin supposes, some parents _do_ tend to drive their infants around at night. Reportedly it helps them sleep. Thenvunin absolutely does not stare at the flex of the stranger’s neck muscles, though, nor take note of his square jawline.

“Well,” he repeats, for a third time. “If you could just maybe keep one eye on Tin-Tin here, I could climb up and get your bird?”

Thenvunin’s eyebrows shoot up.

It’s not an offer he would have expected. Especially considering that the stranger is hardly better dressed for tree climbing than he is. But it doesn’t take a genius to suppose the obvious ulterior motive behind the kind offer. Rescue the scantily-clad neighbour’s pet, and then get invited inside, and then…

…Find somewhere to put the baby?

Obviously not a very well thought out plan. And Thenvunin almost never lets strangers handle his birds, for good reason.

On the other hand, he needs to get Sunset safely out of that tree. So perhaps he can play the situation to his advantage.

“You would have to be very careful, sometimes animals in pain can bite or scratch,” he says. “And… I’m sorry.” The rest of the offer catches up with him, then. “Did you name your child _Tin-Tin?”_

The stranger blinks at him, and then laughs.

“Ah, no,” he says. “Not exactly. Her name’s _Tinuviel,_ but that’s a really old-fashioned name for a baby. Really old-fashioned. I think I had a great-grandmother named Tinuviel… which might be where my aunt got it from, come to think of it. Anyway, I just started calling her Tin-Tin for fun. She’s not really my baby, I’m just looking after her while my parents make arrangements to take her in. She’s my cousin.”

Thenvunin blinks at the explanation, and then recollects a recent report in his Vhenadahl News subscription, about a Dalish couple who went on a hiking weekend and were buried in an avalanche. He’d felt very badly upon reaching the part about their young daughter, Tinuviel Mahariel, losing her parents. Barely a year old and already struck by tragedy.

Sunset warbles at him again, and Thenvunin makes up his mind. Even if it does lead to some awkward _prevailing upon,_ or expectations of _gratitude_ and _indebtedness,_ he supposes he shouldn’t leave his poor bird up there to just sicken and get worse while he twiddles his thumbs. And this man doesn’t seem keen to just leave him to make another attempt at climbing himself. With a sigh, he heads towards the car, and peers in. Wondering about the sort of person who would entrust a baby to a complete stranger.

Not, he supposed, that he’s necessarily being extended _much_ trust. The man only moves over to the tree, and after looking at it for a moment, starts climbing it with the car still completely in his line of his sight, and the keys jangling from one of his pockets.

Thenvunin divides his attention between watching Sunset and the stranger, and looking in on the little baby.

She _does_ look to be about a year old. Bundled up in footie pyjamas with leaf prints on them, with a few tufts of pale hair on her head, and a stuffed bunny next to her carseat. Her eyes are closed, and it seems she’s drifted off. She’s a cute little bundle, though, and Thenvunin has a difficult time knowing where to direct his urge to fret. But Tinuviel seems to be fine, and Sunset is making distressed noises again, so he turns his attention back to the tree in time to see the stranger carefully pull her off of the branch.

“Don’t press her wings!” Thenvunin insists. “I think she’s hurt them.”

There’s a sleepy protest from inside the car, and he puts his hand to his mouth, wondering if that was too loud. A glance back reveals the baby moving in her car seat. Mouth working and hands and feet jostling a bit. But after a breathless moment, she settles back down, and Thenvunin’s attention is once again torn away by the _thump_ of feet landing on the ground.

The stranger has Sunset.

Thenvunin rushes over to reclaim her from him, eager to check her over and to know what sort of damage might have been done. Sunset struggles a bit in unfamiliar hands, and remains a bit agitated even once Thenvunin has got her. But she doesn’t bite him as he gets her on his forearm, and she doesn’t rip at him with her talons, either.

“Oh my poor dear,” he fusses. “Let’s get you inside, and see to your wings. Oh… um…”

Pausing, Thenvunin looks back at the man - who, in turn, has headed over to his car again.

“Thank you,” he offers, a bit tensely.

The stranger shrugs.

“What are neighbours for?” he replies. “I’m Daewyn, by the way.”

Thenvunin swallows. And here it is, then. The exchange of information. Though he supposes the man already knows his house address. He lifts his chin, and resigns himself to his fate. Surely there will be a repeat visit, now. When there are no longer babies and birds to distract from things.

But… he really _does_ owe the man, at least…

“Thenvunin,” he offers.

Daewyn grins at him.

“Thenvunin. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he says, with another positively _lurid_ once-over.

Oh, Thenvunin is certainly doomed. He shivers, and holds Sunset closer, and then sniffs.

“Yes, well, you just keep your eyes to yourself, ser. There are babies and birds about, and I have to attend to my injured pet. So if you’re looking for compensation, then you’ll have to come back some other time.”

Daewyn has the audacity to look taken aback. But then, people so often do.

“I’m not looking for compensation,” he insists. “Like I said, just being neighbourly. You take care of your bird. I gotta get Tin-Tin home anyway.”

On that note, he raises a hand, and then opens up the driver’s side door again. Thenvunin hears him murmur something, but doesn’t catch the contents of it. He watches for a moment as the car pulls away, and then heads off down the street. Driving slowly, and then turning in towards a driveway at the very end of the lane. One of many houses on the street that had been up for sale, though, a fair few of the new development ‘for sale’ signs have gone down this month.

Sunset nips at him, and Thenvunin turns his attention apologetically back to her.

“I am so sorry,” he says. “Let’s get you seen to. Oh, what did you _do,_ you silly thing? I’m going to have to get Doctor Lanaya to make a house call just for you _again._ But no, I’m not scolding you, you’ve been through enough…”

He croons at Sunset as he brings her carefully back inside.

There’s no point, really, in paying attention to where he lives. That Daewyn will probably be back. Thenvunin wouldn’t be surprised if he came by tomorrow, even. Although, as he passes by the hall mirror and catches sight of his reflection - evening gown muddied, hair coming out of the curlers he just put in - he reconsiders. This is not, by far, his most poised or alluring look.

Perhaps he has been spared the trouble after all.

Certainly, that would be no means disappoint him. Even if the man _did_ rescue one of his birds. And have a rather nice build. Thenvunin was hardly noticing any of that, not at all.


	12. Second Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could not think of something clever to call it. >_>; Follow up on the Daewyn and Thenvunin Meet Cute.

Days after the 'Man in the Tree' incident, Daewyn is still not entirely sure that it actually happened.

Between trying to simultaneously comfort his grieving mother long-distance and assisting his parents in sorting out things like wills and properties and reassigning guardianship, he has been kept rather busy. His aunt and uncle had recently moved into a new home in a new subdivision of an old sprawling neighborhood. The same neighborhood he had grown up in, in fact. There wasn't too much that needed to be done to make the house ready to sell again, but after living in it for a week or so, Daewyn had come to realize that it was more or less what he had been looking for himself, and had to backtrack through all the paperwork and call the real estate agent at least six different times in order to get everything signed under his name instead.

Which had led to other issues. Such as trying to hunt down a job. There are a lot more Dalish in this area, and especially since these particular Dalish are mostly from his original clan, the style of his carpentry and woodcarving is not going to be seen as "exotic" as the people out in Starkhaven had seemed to think it was. Not that he intends to give it up, by any means. He just…needs to find something to make sure he can pay the bills, too.

He also needs to orchestrate the moving of all his belonging from his old apartment to his new house. And parse out what he should keep from his aunt and uncle, and what should be sold or given away. He personally thinks his mother should have some say in that, but he doubts she has the heart for it at the moment.

And all of this is going on while he tries to figure out parenthood on the fly.

Needless to say, he is running a bit ragged. 

And as such, the idea that some tall blonde man in a fuchsia dressing gown fell out of a tree and began squawking at him in the middle of the night seems like the sort of thing his over-tired brain might come up with. Especially given the fact that the man in question had apparently not felt the need for any sort of undergarments for his nighttime escapades, and Daewyn had more or less ended up getting an eyeful of…well. _Everything_. 

Not that he's complaining.

However, the neighborhood looks different by daylight, and several of the houses look similar in the front, so he's not entirely sure which house belonged to the Bird Man. And he's not about to go knocking on doors to find out. Even if he did have a nicely toned butt.

He doesn't notice anyone wandering down the street half naked or in hair rollers, and the only other witness to the scene is still having trouble forming sentences. He's not even sure what he would say to Thenvunin if he ran into him again. The man didn't exactly seem interested in being friends. As a matter if fact, he had mostly just seemed…scandalized. So Daewyn more or less decides to put it out of his mind for the time being.

Besides, he's got bigger fish to fry. His interview for the shop teaching job at the local high school had gone over pretty well, but the new term won't begin for another month. He plans on going over to the Dalish community center sometime next week to see if they'd be interested in him organizing some kind of sports meets or archery lessons, but that will likely take a bit of time to put together as well.

He loves his little baby cousin. He does. But he thinks that if he doesn't get some sort of activity to occupy his time that doesn't involve diaper changing and singing the Isty Bitsy Spider song in various funny voices, he might just lose his mind.

Tinuviel is the one who offers a solution to his suffering, in the end. She is beginning to be too big for her baby crib and will likely need something a bit larger within the next few months. And Daewyn isn’t just going to go out and _buy_ one. Where would be the fun in that?

He brings her along with him to the hardware store, which earns him a few odd looks from some of the other customers, but he can't exactly leave her at home by herself. Besides, he needs her opinion on what paints he should get. And he's yet to see anyone dare to pick a fight with a haggard-looking man carrying a baby.

He is standing in line to check out with a cart that is all but overflowing with wooden planks and tools and carving supplies. His usual equipment still hasn't arrived from his old apartment yet, so there was quite a lot he needed to stock up on. Tinuviel is mumbling something that sounds a lot like an impromptu song about soup from the carrier strapped to his chest. And through his exhaustion and the prickly sort of nervousness he tends to get when everything seems to take an unexpected twist that he had not braced himself for- which seems to be happening a lot lately- Daewyn feels a warm swell of something suspiciously like contentment.

Tin-Tin is a good baby, even if he does have to drive her around the block a few times to get her to sleep most nights. And this is a good place to live. Nostalgic and familiar. He will settle into a routine soon enough. Dig up some old friends. Find the path he should tread now.

He catches a strong whiff of roses.

At first Daewyn thinks that someone must be buying a bush of them from the gardening section, but a quick glance around seems to confirm that the smell is emanating from the man ahead of him in line. He can't get a clear view of his face past the long sweep of his hair, but his outfit is very…purple.

There is something familiar about him, but Daewyn can't quite put his finger on it. The stranger might have questionable fashion sense, but he is not unattractive. Is he an old friend? Were they on the track team together?

He is wheeling a cart full of expensive-looking birdseed and a pair of alarmingly pink flamingo lawn ornaments towards the exit, and Daewyn is out of time to puzzle out where he's seen him before.

"Loony loo oop boop," Tinuviel supplies helpfully, and suddenly, the penny drops.

"The loony Bird Man with the nice butt!" Daewyn blurts, pointing at the stranger in a way that is not especially polite. The man startles as though he has been shot before whipping around, red-faced and puffing himself up like a disgruntled alley cat, and Daewyn can admit that he was, perhaps, a bit loud with his declarations. He wonders if he is about to get chewed out in the middle of a hardware store, but the man's gaze shifts down towards the infant strapped to his chest, and he seems to reel whatever vitriol he had in store for him back into himself. Barely.

"My name is _Thenvunin_ ," the man hisses instead, sticking his chin out in a manner that Daewyn supposes is meant to look imperious, "And you should not say that sort of thing in front of a _child_."

The man is a good few inches taller than he is, but it is rather hard to take him seriously when his face is nearly the same color as the fake flamingos in his cart. Daewyn snorts, but holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He's not about to get into a throw down with a baby attached to his front.

"In my defense, Tin-Tin called you loony before I did," he grins. It's not really his intention to be a shit, but it's hard to resist when Thenvunin seems so easy to poke at. He does not disappoint this time, either.

"I was not talking about _that_ ," Thenvunin snaps, getting huffy again for a moment before taking a deep breath through his nose and speaking again in an almost whisper, "You should not talk about… You should not make commentary about the- About the state of someone's… _buttocks_."

"Butt ox!" Tinuviel parrots back cheerfully, waving her stuffed rabbit in Daewyn's face, "Butt-on butter bubber butt!"

Thenvunin looks positively _livid_.

"Thanks for that," Daewyn says dryly, though he is honestly having a hard time holding in his laughter, "I'm sure the mothers of the other kids at her daycare are going to be thrilled by this development."

" _You_ were the one who-" Thenvunin squawks.

"How's your bird, anyway?" Daewyn interjects, "Sunny, right?"

" _Sunset_ ," Thenvunin corrects him with another huff, although he does seem to calm down a bit, "She's still recovering. Luckily, she only managed to bend a few feathers and bruise her wing a little, the poor dear. I am going to have someone out to redo my wards tomorrow."

"That's good," Daewyn nods, "You know, I'm glad I ran into you, actually. I was beginning to suspect that our meeting was some strange elaborate fantasy concocted by my brain while I was half asleep. It was worrisome. I thought I might have developed some hidden yearning for a man in hair rollers that my subconscious was trying to make me aware of."

For some reason, this seems to make the blushing return, along with some flustered sputtering. Daewyn can't make out too much of what Thenvunin is actually saying, but he catches words here and here. Indecent, inappropriate, and lascivious among them. It seems highly probably that he would like to scold him, but he finds himself unwilling or unable to do so where little ears might hear it. He briefly wonders if he's actually offended the man somehow, but then he takes note of the way that his gaze seems to be lingering somewhere around the open top buttons of his shirt. And he begins to suspect that all this flailing might, in fact, be of a wholly different nature.

He pointedly rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and leans forward a bit over his cart. Testing his theory. As expected, Thenvunin's eyes follow the motion of his hands, and linger for a few very gratifying moments on the muscles of his forearms before darting away again. His cheeks are noticeably darker, and he looks _extremely_ put-out. 

Daewyn's grin broadens exponentially. 

"See anything you like?" he asks in a decidedly warm tone.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Thenvunin replies hastily, taking a half step away and scowling, "I was simply… I was looking at what you had in your cart. That’s _all._ How dare you imply that I would- I would never be so crass as to…to _ogle_ someone in public!"

"Oh," Daewyn says, frowning a bit himself, "I was just here getting supplies to build Tin-Tin a bigger crib, that's all. I think we're going to go with a rabbit theme, since she seems pretty attached to Colonel Hoppington."

"Hop bop!" Tinuviel agrees.

"A-ah," Thenvunin fumbles slightly, "That's…nice."

There are a few heartbeats of awkward silence, and Daewyn fully expects the man to turn on his heel and wheel his flamingos out the door and off into the sunset. But he doesn't. He just stands there, twisting his mouth up as though he would dearly like to say something, but he can't quite bring himself to do it.

"You know," Daewyn sighs after a moment, "I don't really mind a bit of ogling every now and then. Especially not from handsome men."

That seems to help Thenvunin find his tongue again.

"There is a _child_ present!" he reminds him, sounding truly scandalized.

"Tin-Tin won't mind if you want to tell me that I look nice," Daewyn says with a shrug an a laugh, "She's only a year old. …I wouldn't mind either, in case you were wondering."

"I would _never_ ," Thenvunin sputters, "I do _not_ stare at people inappropriately in a public setting! Or ever, really! And I am deeply offended that you would insinuate such a thing."

Daewyn thinks that he should probably lay off before the poor man gives himself a heart attack. 

"Well, that's too bad," he says with another shrug, beginning to maneuver his cart around Thenvunin's so he can get it out the exit and head home, "But if you'd rather just be neighbors, that's fine too. Let me know if you ever need help fixing something around your house. I'm not a mage, but I'm pretty handy with mundane tools. We're the last house on the block. With the yellow door. Can't miss it."

He hears Thenvunin make a sort of odd choking sound from behind him, and gets the impression that he's back to swallowing whatever it is he had to say to that.

"Of course," he throws over his shoulder, not quite able to resist ruffling the man's feathers one last time before he leaves, "My hands are actually good at quite a lot of things, so feel free to ask to borrow them for _any_ kind of help you might need."

The angry sputtering that follows him out the door has him laughing all the way back to his car.


End file.
